Breast Cancer and Me Journal

February 26, 2004
Today I found out I have breast cancer. 

I wasn’t going to cry.  I had made up my mind to be strong even if the pathology report came back with an unexpected cancer finding.  But while the doctor continued talking to me after the cancer word, I felt my eyes well up with tears.  I valiantly tried to continue to listen.  I heard his words but getting past the cancer word was difficult.  The word cancer kept echoing in my mind.  I am now one of the many women afflicted with breast cancer?  I remember when I was in a head on collision with a drunk driver.  I could hardly believe it.  Drunk drivers hit people I don’t know.  But it happened to me.  And now, breast cancer has happened to me.

As I walked to my car after leaving the doctor’s office, my emotional dam burst and I sobbed loudly.  I stumbled along on the rain slick pavement to my car, not caring who might see or hear me.  My thoughts railed against the cancer diagnosis.  Not cancer.  Not now.  Not ever. I have been enjoying my life.  I am growing old with the husband of my youth.  I am enjoying my friendships with my grown up daughters.  I love being grandma, having little people around again and buying toys.   I like having a part time job, being challenged by my three hour class, having lunch dates with special friends, driving around town in my dream car while listening to my music, having people over to the house, traveling occasionally, being needed by my family…. the list goes on.

I realize my life isn’t suddenly over.  I am the same person as I was yesterday, before the C word.  But today the cancer word has thrown me into another world, a world that will take me out of my comfortable routine.  My life will not be my own for a long while.  There will be treatment regimes that will interrupt my day.   Will people treat me differently?  Will they be at a loss as to what to say to me? Behind their kind words will they be thinking, “I am glad that isn’t happening to me.”  I feel like I have been set apart.

I was profoundly sad to give my family the news.  I tried to sound calm so that I did not upset anyone.  I believe I need to be an example of strength in this time of trouble.  If I manage bravely, it will help them accept the news.  I regret this news will forever change the lives of my daughters.  Maternal breast cancer history has always loomed big on the list of risk factors for breast cancer.  Now they will have to say yes to breast cancer in the family.  It grieves me greatly to pass this medical history on to them. 

I know I will deal with this and in fact am already doing so.  For now, I will dry my eyes.  I will take it one moment at a time.  I am thankful I have always gotten yearly mammograms.  I am thankful for the medical personnel that spotted the change in my mammogram.  I am thankful for the radiologist and his persistence in trying to pinpoint this small spot and making the way clear for the surgeon to remove it.  (Even though it was a tortuous procedure with the needles and nine-inch wires) I am thankful my cancer was at the beginning stage of detectable cancers.  I am thankful the lumpectomy done almost a week ago has already removed the cancer invader from my body.  I am thankful the perimeters of the mass were free of cancer cells, meaning my surgeon got it all.  I am thankful for the many ways the Lord has already met needs in my life that were yet unknown and unasked.  And I am most thankful for the loving support of family and friends.

February 28, 2004
I bolted for the door of the conference room.  The words of the couple’s retreat speaker were echoing in my mind.  He had been talking about a former church member who now had cancer coursing throughout her body.  It was the cancer word again.  He spoke of a greater need than her physical battle, which will be her spiritual battle.  I recognized this truth because I have been sent to that battlefield before.  My emotions were too raw.  I was not yet ready for the battle. 

I could not listen another moment.  I warned my husband who was seated between me and the exit that I was leaving and asked him to shift his legs to clear the way.  His initial response was encouragement to stay until he saw my emotionally contorted face and my struggle for composure.  He said go. 

I ran down the hotel hallway without actually realizing I was running, relieved to be free from the suddenly stifling room.  I focused only on the door at the end of the hall.  My one clear thought was to get out of the building and as far away as I could.  I think my physical flight was a symbolic run from what I do not want to face.  Cancer. 

I was already out of the building before I heard my name called.  It was a long time friend.  Out of respect for her, I curbed my desire to continue my flight.  I stopped and waited for her to catch up.  I was startled to find myself hyperventilating.  She embraced me as I sobbed.  I remember gasping for air and repeating one consuming thought between sobs, “I don’t want to go through this.”  Her compassionate response was, “I don’t want you to either.” 

When my emotional storm subsided, we walked to a park bench in a secluded area and sat in the warm sun.  Unplanned and a little reluctantly, I heard myself sharing my inner fears.  She listened.  When she sensed my spirit vessel was emptied, she began to fill it again with truth.  She spoke the truth of God’s purpose in all things, the truth of support in the relationships of my family and friends and the truth of my need to allow others to encourage and strengthen me when I am weak. 

When all things suddenly seem bad, it is good to have friends.  And loved ones who care.



March 1, 2004
Reluctantly I kept the appointment with the gastrologist.  I had made it several months prior after I learned our dear friend had untreatable colon cancer that could have been discovered earlier with timely checkups.  With my breast cancer diagnosis still an unbelievable reality in my life for barely a week, I planned to explain to the doctor that I preferred to postpone this procedure for now.  Sounded like a reasonable plan to me.

The doctor did not cooperate with my plan.  Though lacking somewhat in the congeniality department, it was obvious he was a conscientious doctor dedicated to being efficient.  The announcement of my recent breast cancer diagnosis only prompted him to turn immediately to his computer and with no wasted breath to consult my opinion; he began checking the appointment calendar for next week.  He informed me that breast cancer and colon cancer go ‘hand in hand.’  If you are a woman that has colon cancer, you need to have regular mammograms.  And visa versa.  Wham!  My life was taken out of my control again.

After a stressful personal medical history interview with the doctor who spoke so rapidly I could barely keep up with my responses, I was ushered into a patient room and instructed to disrobe.  The paper gown I was given was hardly adequate for the miserable thirty-minute wait in a cold room seated on the examining table.  With no distractions like a magazine or piped in music, my fearful thoughts were beginning to totally consume me.  I considered my newly acquired skill of fleeing again but my get up garb inhibited the urge.  Finally the door flew open and the doctor bustled in with a harried nurse barely on his trail. 

The exam began.  He listened to my chest.  I could hardly keep up with his commands of breath in and breathe out.  His bedside manner resembled a drill sergeant more than my personal ideal of a physician.  He didn’t spare me any gory details either.  When he saw my skin tags under my arm, he informed me that skin tags and polyps in the colon go ‘hand in hand.’  According to him, I will likely have polyps too.  Quickly the exam was over.  Get dressed and go to the lab for blood work.

Sitting on the stool in the lab room, I demurely mentioned my difficult veins to the technician.  I try to not offend whoever is going to draw my blood by inferring I doubt their abilities.  I usually suggest the use of a butterfly needle.  This helps establish the fact that I may know what I am talking about and I am not exaggerating when I say that I am a hard stick.  I make sure to let the nurse know I am praying as he or she attempts the first stick.  I never look.  I wait and sometimes ask if it was a successful drill.  What a relief when I hear an affirmation but what a trial when I hear a frustrated sigh of failure.  This morning wasn’t too bad.  I was only stuck twice before the vials began filling. 

For my last trial and final humiliation before I could leave the office, I was given a container for a stool specimen.  I was asked how far away I lived.  Immediately my mind filled in the blanks on why the nurse was asking me that question.  Envisioning a drive back to the office with the unpleasant cargo of a stool specimen, I decided to choose the obvious alternative.  I humbly volunteered to donate a contribution immediately.

With detailed instructions and a humorless quip from the nurse to have fun, I entered the bathroom with foreign equipment.  I situated the O ring between the toilet seat and the commode and then placed the Cool Whip type container inside it.  I meticulously spread toilet paper on the toilet seat and sat down to complete the task.  Oh, oh.  I don’t want to pee in the container too.  Stand up.  Take everything off.  Sit down again.  Pee. Flush the toilet. Start over.  Replace the O-ring. Replace the Cool Whip container.  Replace the toilet paper on the toilet seat.  Ok.  The job completed. 

Isn’t this lovely?  Life has reached a new low.  Here I am in the bathroom, trying to scoop poop into a small sized Dixie cup type plastic container with two wooden Popsicle sticks.  It was like trying to use chop sticks at the most inappropriate time and I have never mastered that technique during the best of times.  Where is a Taco Bell Spork (fork and spoon combo) when you need one?  The nurse had asked me to fill the container to a specific mark on the container.  Therefore I felt compelled to manipulate the Popsicle chopsticks until all material was awkwardly maneuvered to the required container.  Finally I completed the task.  Before I left the bathroom, I had the foresight to conceal the clear plastic container with a paper towel. 

When I emerged from the bathroom, the surrounding area was now bustling with people.  Where is a nurse when you need one?  I spotted one and rushed towards her.  “Where do I leave this?”  I discretely asked.  She gestured towards the lab room and told me to put it in the sink.  Ok.  This container doesn’t have my name on it.  How will they remember it is mine?  I hesitate but end up following her instructions to place it in the sink.  I head for the exit but I immediately return.  For my own peace of mind, I had to make a final plea for someone to be sure to put my name on the specimen.  Because one thing I know, I won’t go through that ordeal again any time too soon.

March 2, 2004
My husband and my sister in law went with me for my follow up visit with the surgeon since my cancer news.  My sister in law was impressed with him.  That is good news coming from a nurse because nurses have a sixth sense about doctors.  My surgeon recommends that I have my lymph nodes out from under my right arm.  He does not pressure me to make an immediate decision.  He says he is conservative and does not need to rush me.  He said the cancer was in my breast at least five years before it was detectable according to its size. 

He says without question, I need to have five weeks of radiation treatment, five times a week.  The need of radiation is because there is a 25-40% chance there is a cancer cell remaining somewhere else in my breast, yet undetected.  Also, I will have to take a drug for the rest of my life to suppress the estrogen in my body so I don’t get cancer in the other breast.  I don’t voice the questions I am suddenly wondering like what is a woman like without estrogen in her body.  Or will I suddenly grow hair on my face? 

The good news is my cancer was nine millimeters in size, which is just a little less than the one centimeter that marks the detectable range on the scale.  He removed about five centimeters of tissue and the perimeters were all clear of cancer cells, meaning the cancer was contained. 

The surgeon took his time to talk to us, answering questions and explaining options.  Surprisingly, I have few questions.  I do not know what to ask because it seems there are few options.  It is obvious I have to have radiation and it would be prudent to check out the lymph nodes. (Inwardly I have a new appreciation for the old saying, “ignorance is bliss”, or it seems so at the moment.)  He said the lymph node removable would be easier than the surgery I have already had.  That part doesn’t scare me.  It is the possible news that the lymph nodes are not clear that terrifies me.  It would mean consideration of chemotherapy, a process that nearly drains the core of life away.  I have always thought I would not choose chemotherapy because I believe it often does more harm then good.  I fervently pray I will be spared from this fight for life.   

March 3, 2004
I followed a funeral procession on my way back to the office after lunch.  I wondered who had died and why the processional was only three cars long.  It seemed an inadequate farewell to the departure of a life.  My mind conjured up several scenarios to explain the absence of a multitude of mourners.  I did not want to think this life was not loved and appreciated by someone.  It was gratifying to watch the show of respect from fellow motorists as each one without fail, stopped to give a moment of respect for the deceased and those grieving.  It comforted me to see that no matter if the processional is a mile long or three car lengths long, people respect a life that was lived.

Seeing a funeral procession always makes me think of life and its uncertainties.  In spite of the fact there are no guarantees, we are too often inclined to take it for granted.  Why do we fail to appreciate that each breath we take is a blessing?  Like today, how had I spent my day from the moment I woke up to the moment I saw the funeral procession?  

I began my day by laying my head upon my husband’s shoulder.  It was my unspoken need for reassurance that I am loved and cared for.  I know I have someone who is faithful and will be beside me through this new trial in my life.  I also hugged my youngest daughter before I left for work, thankful to still have her in my life on a daily basis.  We savor her last months at home, knowing how later this year we will be giving her in marriage to her sweetheart. 

I spent several morning hours at the office, working on a computer course with my long time friend.  How special to have a friend to share laughter, tears and now frustration over our homework.  We have seen each other through thick and thin, through the joy and pain of life. 

I had a lot of work to do at the office today but without hesitation, I accepted a lunch date with my oldest daughter, her husband and their two little children.  Being with them is a like a breath of fresh air.  Their smiles light up the corners of my heart’s darkest rooms of gloom and doom. How could I hold on to my discouraged heart when my piggy tailed little granddaughter flashes me a beaming smile or I see the sparkle in those black eyes of my grandson and hear his earnest proclamation, “I love you Grandma”. 

Moments with my grandchildren fill my cup to overflowing   I cherish each moment I am with them for all these times are uniquely special.  Today I taught my grandson one of the simple pleasures of life.  Blowing the paper wrapper off the end of the straw.  He was delighted and mastered the art quickly.  And my granddaughter, notorious for mini hugs gave me a least a four-minute snuggle. 

A phone call in the afternoon from my middle daughter heralded a drop in visit with me at the office.  She brought me her latest artistic creation for my appraisal.  I am delighted to see her work and shower her with profuse praise.  I appreciate our moments together and later I enjoyed having supper with her husband too.  What a blessing that all of our children seek our company and willingly share their time with us! 

Living life to its fullest is appreciating the little things that make up life.  Like wearing a new pair of socks that look hip with my clogs, cranking the heat up in my car and opening my sunroof on a cold day, eating fresh pliable gummy worms, receiving an e-mail from a cousin saying ‘bravo for you girl’, Tuesday night pizza celebrations after Weight Watchers or a family gathering to watch the reality show, Survivor. 

Today I took time to notice the other ways the Lord brings a smile to my face.  Like spotting a chicken unexpectedly on the side of a busy city road and wondering how in the world did it get there?  The loud yelping welcome from the resident dog on the office property as soon as she saw my car drive in made me smile too.  She can hardly wait until I get out of the car.  I have never been at ease with dogs but I am learning how to pet her. It seems she hasn’t figured out that I am basically a cat person.  Or maybe she has but accepts my awkward attention anyway.  Dogs are so forgiving.

I appreciate my Dad and Mom praying with me on the telephone.  I appreciate a card from my sister saying only what needs to be said. 
I appreciate other phone calls of concern, e-mails and cards coming my way to encourage me.  Moment to moment I change.  Sometimes I want to talk.  Sometimes I don’t.  One minute I feel brave.  Another moment I feel a butterfly flutter of panic in my chest.  I remind myself I am still the same person I was before.  Just facing new challenges.

New buds are appearing on the trees signaling the beginning of spring, my favorite time of year.  Spring always represents new beginnings.  I will watch to see how the Lord will make my life fresh with new beginnings.  I will pause and give a moment of respect and appreciate the little moments of life.  And smile.

March 6, 2004
Often I catch myself staring out in space.  The moments snatch me from the present and I feel suspended in time.  When this happens, I don’t even recall a thought. 

Other times I feel like an observer not a player.  Everyone around me is moving but I am standing still.  Or I catch myself sighing heavily for no apparent reason.  I noticed I even have had to remind myself to smile. 
I was afraid people would treat me differently.  Now I am afraid I am different.

March 7, 2004
This is how it began.  The mammogram technician said she needed to take more film of my right breast because she saw something on the mammogram that wasn’t on the previous mammogram.  It was a sunny day.  Standing at the waters edge, the tide of watery uncertainty laps up between my toes. 

I signed for a certified letter from the hospital.  Thus begins the regime of doctor consultations, decisions, tests and procedures.  <i>Though my feet are planted solidly on shore, the powerful dark waters swirling around me threaten my balance.

Surgery results disclose unwanted news.   It was cancer.  I am bombarded with new information from many directions.  I know I need to take control and make decisions. And I will soon.  For now, I cannot think too long about it.  I lost my balance and became submerged under the dark, churning murky water of the unknown.  The tide surge of uncharted waters has taken me further out then I desire.  I am barely keeping my head above water as the relentless waves of fear crash over me.  But I am managing to stay afloat. 

Expressions of love and prayers through one on one contact, hugs, calls, cards and e-mail are pouring in.  I save each message of cheer in my Encouragement Journal.  I am thankful others are praying for me because I don’t feel able to pray for myself yet.  A life preserver of love and prayers has been thrown to me.  The crashing waves of fear buffet me as I try to grab hold of the life saving ring.  I grasp the outer edge of the ring.  Although unable to put it securely around my neck yet, I am holding on with all my might.

March 7, 2004
My husband and I went to the funeral home to pay our respects to a friend whose mother just died.  I shook hands with one of the relatives.  He let me know that he had heard that I had cancer.  I confirmed this.  He expressed concern and mentioned how serious cancer is.  I agreed.  I know he did not mean it the way it came out but the next thing he said was, “My grandmother died of cancer.”  His grandmother was the lady who was lying in a coffin in the next room.  I felt like replying, “Thanks for saying that out loud.” Instead I politely murmured, “Really?”
Mental notes: 
    •    Toughen up
    •    Remember to avoid making my own blunders in certain life moments.


March 8, 2004
I told my friend about yesterday and the words said to me that are usually not said out loud.  At least today I could laugh about it.

Then she told me her story.  Two weeks ago her grandmother died and she left immediately to travel out of town to help her grandfather through the funeral arrangements.

The day of the viewing she was tired and not feeling well.  Her daughters too traveled from out of town also and had arrived for the viewing.  They were seated across the parlor room, involved in what appeared to be a heavy discussion.  She watched them, trying to figure out what they were saying.  They noticed her gaze.  Simultaneously, their eyebrows shot up and their facial expressions changed as if to ask, what?  And out of her mouth came a question she has no idea why she asked.  She inquired, “Are you thinking about the time when I will be laying in a coffin?”  Her daughters looked at her with horrified disbelief.  All she could muster was a pitiful sorry. 

I laughed and laughed at her story.  Even now I laugh.  I completely identify with her helplessness over that unexplainable moment when we open mouth and insert foot.  We all have been there done that.  And that is why we just have to let those moments go, whether you are on the receiver end or the other end.  Just let it go.

March 9, 2004
I have been haunted by the memory of our visit with our long time friend two days ago.  His cancer has left him a pale image of his former self.  The hollowed cheeks, shrunken eye sockets, yellowed skin and the infrequent trembling of his head as he spoke, belong to someone faintly familiar.  Only his voice was recognizable and I wished I could have listened to him with my eyes closed.    As I stared at him, I kept fighting back the question that was in the back of my mind.  Was I looking into the face of my destiny?

I found it very difficult to endure as he shared his research about the nutritional approach to treating cancer and his spiritual journey.  I want to grasp his spiritual lessons but I resist sharing this cancer link with him.  And that makes me feel like an uncaring person.   

I was able to pray today and put words to my heart cry.  I don’t really know how to pray but I know the Lord knows my needs.  With no doubt, I know my greatest need is His strength and peace for whatever state I am in. 

March 10, 2004
The dreaded day has arrived.  My colonoscopy is scheduled for 10:30 a.m. today.  I survived two days on a liquid diet, ingested 28 pills to clean me out, gulped eight ounces of bitter magnesium citrate, clumsily self administered four enemas and made countless trips to the bathroom.  The worst is over.  I hope. 
Dear Lord, please spare me from any further complications and bad news.  My heart is pleading this request.

March 11, 2004
Lord, thank you for a good report.  No polyps no cancer.  Though weak and bruised from six unsuccessful attempts to start an IV for the anesthesia, my inner being is immensely relieved.  I did not realize how stressful the waiting and the wondering was until today.  I am exhausted but at peace.

March 12, 2004
My youngest daughter asked me to read her short story.  Not normally a writer, she had written a story to perform the homework assignment of her Social Studies class.  It was a smooth flowing story line filled with delightful descriptive details.  She successfully used modified personal childhood situations in the story line and cleverly incorporated character traits of her sisters and herself into the story characters. 

It has been a blessing to watch this daughter grow and blossom as she has in her years in college.  Particularly because this is the daughter who protested against going to college with the excuse that she was not college material.  She has proved to herself and others the irony of that statement.

March 12, 2004
It was my daughters first time to host a table for the annual Ladies Spring Garden Party church event and she asked me to help her set it up.  Even though it was a busy afternoon, I took time out to do this with her.

My daughter and I work well together and mirror each other in our creative instincts.  We spent a delightful two hours setting up her table and admiring the other tables.  I had been disappointed I was not going to be able to attend this event, which was happening on the evening of my class.  Going to help set up made it possible for me to see the majority of the other tables and their unique individual themes. 

After I left the convention hall and was on my way to class, I realized I hadn’t thought about cancer for the last two hours.  I am so thankful she asked me to help as it proved to be an even more significant help in my own life. 

March 13, 2004
It is Saturday.  I had great plans to accomplish much.  The phone rang and I answered it.  My grandson’s quiet little voice sweetly asked, “Grandma, would you like to go to the “Barney” park with us and have a picnic?”  Without hesitation, all my plans were laid aside and I answered with an enthusiastic yes. 

Even though the warm sun was shinning, the cool breeze made us realize we were probably a little premature thinking it was picnic weather.  But we enjoyed our picnic as we shivered a little but laughed a lot. 

After lunch, we headed for the playground equipment and we warmed up considerably.  This is the same park where we routinely brought our first-born daughter and subsequently our other two daughters almost thirty years ago.  I couldn’t help remembering that as I watched my 15-month-old granddaughter enjoying her first swing at the park. 

I am thankful I have learned over the years to always take advantage of special moments, special times. This time with our daughter, son-in-law and grandchildren were one of those times. 

March 14, 2004
I single-handily performed a Trading Spaces type renovation to our catchall guest room this weekend.  I have been brewing numerous ideas in my head lately as an escape from other unpleasant thoughts that frequently keep me awake. 

My ideas worked well.  The room is successfully updated, uncluttered and more in control.  I have additional plans for other projects in there but I have made a good beginning.  It felt good to exercise control during a time in my life when I feel things are out of control.  In all things, I am learning lessons for living.  Change begins with the shutter of one frame at a time and eventually transforms the picture. 

March 15, 2004
At last I am home.  I spent a long morning in the Imaging Department of the hospital.  My breakfast date with the personal in the Imaging Department was scheduled for 8:30 a.m.  Normally breakfast out is a delicious treat and on my list of favorite things to do.  But today was the exception because the only item offered on the menu was Barium. 

Arriving on time, I settled in for the customary patient wait after I registered and read a couple of chapters from my book before my name was called.  I was ushered into the inner facility and given not one but two wrinkled hospital gowns to exchange for my civilian clothing.  I was allowed to keep my socks and shoes on.  I was a sight to behold wearing my clunky clogs with gray socks while sporting my borrowed shapeless hospital gowns as I walked into the next waiting room.  Adding to this badly dressed fashion statement were my bruised arms from last weeks procedure.   

I waited in a women’s waiting room for the next step.  Another woman was already seated in there, gingerly sipping and then grimacing over a paper cup full of some unpleasant concoction.  I wondered when I would be given something yucky to drink.  It didn’t take long to find out.  I was taken back to the imaging room.  It was cold, stark and devoid of anything resembling comfort.  The imaging apparatus filled the room with its jointed ridged arms connecting it to monitors and a mutant aberration of a beauty shop hair dryer hood on another arm.  Beneath it was a cold table with a pillow.

I had a brief interview which curiously included a question which I had no answer.  Why are you here?  I really did not know.  How odd that I am supposed to be dealing with my breast cancer treatments and somehow I have become entangled with GI testing.  I told the technician I had recently had a routine colonoscopy procedure and during the history interview had admitted to the doctor that occasionally I have bouts of diarrhea, but it is usually a result of stress.  I hope there is not more bad news in store for me.

Another mental note: I need to be more assertive and ask questions, like why do I have to have a small bowel series?  But it wasn’t like the doctor has been all that accessible. 

Small Bowel Series means it is going to take time, a whole lot of time.  I don’t know why the word ‘series’ didn’t give me a clue that I would be taking more than one x-ray.  First I lay on the table for a pre-barium film.  Next was the dreaded drink.  She poured three glasses of a thick white substance in a purple and blue floral paper cup.  She topped each one of them off with a straw with a bendable neck.  I am glad they don’t use regular Solo cups that I see in normal life because it would invoke bad memories.

I had to down the first glass immediately and reluctantly began sipping.  Oh, it was bad.  It goes against my nature to endure such nasty tasting stuff and I fought my gag reflex.  I was lead back to the women’s waiting room with two full glasses of barium to down.  I understood the instructions of getting it down as soon as possible because the test wouldn’t really be underway until the liquid volume reached its destination, which would mean delaying my departure. 

Even Regis and Kelly were not enough distraction to help me guzzle down two glasses.  I had managed one of the two when I was taken back for the next picture.  The barium had started to move downward but very slowly.

Back again to the waiting room with the encouragement to keep drinking, I half listened to a news story about the loss of the family pet.  Though this topic brought back my own sad memories of pet losses I was too focused on the drink to think about changing the channel.  I felt pressured to finish.  I began to play mental games to challenge myself to keep drinking.  Ok, now drink during this commercial.  Rest.  Clap my hand over my mouth to be sure to keep it in.  Why do I have to see food commercials at a time like this?  I almost lost it on the Golden Corral commercial advertising its shrimp feast buffet. 

My next visit back to the monster machine I carried the last half of the third cup.  Almost there, hallelujah!  Endure a couple more sips.  I am relieved to be finished.  What if I am asked to drink more because they need more volume?  I decide I will refuse.  I will wait as long as I need to for the volume to reach the ends of my bowel regions but I cannot hold another drop of barium. 

A new escort comes for me.  She takes a look via the machine and comes back with the announcement that the barium is still on the move but very slow.  She suggests that I need to drink something else this time.  Before I refuse, I ask her if it is as bad as the other drink.  She said no and offers me the option of water, Diet Coke or Diet Sprite.  I almost didn’t believe my ears and happily request a Diet Coke.   

This time my wait in the waiting room is more enjoyable.  I switch the channel to TLC and enjoy the Dating Story while sipping my delicious refreshing Diet Coke.  Never have I so enjoyed a Diet Coke.  When my now new favorite escort came back for me, she actually saw a smile on my face.  I spent some time lying on the table, which was not really a problem.   I can deal with anything just as long as I am finished drinking barium.  I am repositioned a few times from my back to my side so the barium can finish its trek throughout my system.  Finally I hear the words I have been waiting to hear.  All done.  You can go home now.  She gives me a departing gift of two stool softeners to help me avoid constipation from the barium.


I retrieved my clothes from Locker 3 and slip into a dressing room.  It felt good to shed those hospital gowns.  My lower track feels strangely warm and full.  Not actually an unpleasant feeling at this point.  The fullness makes me think I won’t be hungry any time soon.

One last hitch before I left the hospital premises.  I had used the Valet parking system like last week because I was instructed by telephone to do so when my appointment was confirmed.  I approached the desk to have my Valet ticket stamped and was declined.   My Small Bowel Series did not entitle me to free parking service.  The problem was not the three dollars I now owed.  The problem was I didn’t bring any cash in my purse since I didn’t know where my purse would end up during my test. 

I knew I had some change in my car but how was I going to get to the change in my car without paying three dollars?  The receptionist was not too interested in my problem.  I moved on to the valet pick up area.  I checked my wallet.  I had $2.25 in quarters.  Swallowing my pride, I spoke to the elderly gentleman in line in ahead of me.  I explained my problem in a condensed version and asked for a seventy-five cent loan until I could get into my car.  He promptly pulled out a dollar and I exchanged a quarter for it.  He assured me he didn’t need me to give him the seventy-five cents. Thank you, Sir, for your compassion and giving spirit. 
Another mental note: Like the movie, Pay It Forward!

March 18, 2004
Riding around town in my husbands Jeep, I see my favorite time of the year is in full bloom.  But today I found myself literally shutting my eyes to its beauty or looking in a neutral direction.  Spring has always meant a season of happiness to me.  And I have lost my happiness.  I feel hopeless, sad, angry and alone.  I can’t look at the flowers because I feel so completely opposite of their beauty.  The glimpses of spring only bring tears to my eyes.  Spring and its beauty are wasted on me today.

March 18, 2004
I barely caught a glimpse of a billboard sign featuring a littered junkyard with a caption something like this, “Are you able to see the garden?”  Silently I answer an emphatic no to that question.  My vision is impaired by the darkness of my fears shadowing my garden of life.  I only see the litter of negative thoughts, which has cluttered my mind and life for the last three weeks since I found out I had cancer.

March 19, 2004
I saw a robust little brown robin taking a bath in a puddle of water that had collected in a pothole in the middle of the road.  His wings were vigorously splashing the water and he was boldly enjoying himself.  He was taking advantage of the blessing of the puddled pothole regardless of its precarious spot in traffic’s way.  When my car traveled too close for his comfort, he flew out of harms way.  I suspect he flew back to finish his bath after I passed by.

I am pondering the lesson of the robin.  I believe the picture the robin left in my mind is a reminder for me to practice my faith and trust in a bold way.  I can choose to enjoy the blessing this trial will bring by allowing myself to bathe in its complexities with the knowledge that when it becomes too much, I can retreat to the safety of the Lord, family and friends.  Or I can choose to submerge myself in the rut of this pothole and allow everything to run over me.  A choice I need to make day-to-day or even moment-to-moment. 

March 20, 2004
I decided it was time to become more informed.  I found a breast cancer support group online.  I probably will join it at some point.  I read all the ‘survivor’ stories.  I discovered cancer has its own vocabulary.  I need to learn the meaning of the words that apply to me and will affect my life. 

The information is overwhelming.  The recommended treatments have potential for detrimental changes to my health.  The estrogen suppressor can cause blood clots and daily flu like body aches.  Lymph node removal or radiation treatment can result in a condition called lymph edema.  It is a frightening condition, which I see as a potential handicap.  I am right handed and the lymph nodes I need to have checked are under my right arm.  Lymph edema doesn’t always show up immediately.  It can develop over a period of months or even years.  If it does develop, extraordinary care is essential for the arm.  It means constant protection of the arm with insect repellant, suntan lotion, no heavy lifting, no injury like cuts, scratches, no blood work or blood pressure in that arm, no laying on it and the wearing of a elastic stocking for the majority of time.  There was a three-page write up about what to do and not do if you are flying.  It seems like I will be adding another ailment to my life by treating cancer.  It has hit me hard that my life will never be the same again.

March 21, 2004
It seems to be more difficult to feel normal on Sundays.  My favorite time of the worship service is the music and the singing.  Now I only listen and do not sing.  I cannot sing songs like “It Is Well With My Soul” because it is not well with my soul.  My inner being is without song.

It is difficult to concentrate on the Pastor’s sermon.  I listen for a hidden message from God, to grab hold to help me over this hump.  But too often my mind wanders and does not stay focused on the sermon. 

I do appreciate the loving kindness and compassion people show towards me at church.  The hugs are warm expressions of care and concern.  People ask how I am.  I used to always say fine.  Now I just say ok.  Ok, meaning not as good as I used to be.  Ok, meaning I really don’t feel like myself at all.   

I was honest with a few people and said I felt terrible and admitted being depressed.  I tried taking it back as soon as the words were out of my mouth.  I quickly tried to reverse my admission by saying, “Its ok.  I will be fine.”  Why do I do that?  Why is it so hard to just lay it out there and let it be?  Why am I coaching my husband to not tell people how I really feel?
Some of my responses to people startle me.  A lady was talking to me about cancer and then shifted the conversation to several of her own ailments.  As I listened distractedly, her recital of ailments became annoying.  I told her that I would rather have aches and pains than cancer.  Why did I say that?  Where was my patience?

I feel very undeserving of the prayers that are being said on my behalf because I don’t feel like I am doing my part by trying to rise above this.  When will I choose to become like the robin? I wonder if I am wallowing in self-pity.  Actually, I realize that I have reached the point of anger about this situation.  I am mad at this derailment at a point in my life journey when I was going in the direction I wanted to go.

March 22, 2004
I printed a list of 20 Lifesaver tips from the breast cancer support group.  One of them was to try to do something fun everyday.  Ironically, I was doing that when I got cancer.  Now, I have cancer and I am supposed to focus on being happy and having fun again.  It is very hard to be happy when you have cancer.  Cancer consumes your thoughts.

Having cancer is not anything like having high cholesterol.  I used to be afraid I would have a stroke because of my high cholesterol.  Now those worries are replaced by other worries.  Cancer is one of the nearest relatives of death.  This is why so many people fear the C word.  It has the death march attached to it.  Now I wonder if I will eventually die from cancer.

I look around at other people who seem to be going about their life in a normal routine.  I wonder if anyone of them has cancer.  How many people have cancer that I pass by?  No one could tell by looking at me that cancer has snuffed out my inner peace and joy. 

I know cancer is not the only life snuffer.  Look at the devastation of divorce.  It not only snuffs out inner peace and joy but also leaves an empty void.  I am not empty.  I have a faithful man in my life who remains committed to his vows for better or worse.  This feels like worse.  He is a keeper of my light.  And other loved ones help to keep my light burning.   My light has dimmed but it is still burning.  It has not gone out. 

March 23, 2004
I rejoined Weight Watchers February 2003 and for the last year have successfully incorporated life style changes regarding food intake and exercise.  The fifty-four pound weight loss has given me more energy physically and emotionally. 

After a four-week absence due to my current life distractions, I returned to my Weight Watcher Tuesday night meeting.  As I weighed in, my lecturer asked me how I was doing.  I replied, “Terrible.”  She asked, “How terrible are you doing?”  I leaned over the desk and answered softly, “I have breast cancer.  And it has taken every ounce of my will to return tonight” Her eyes immediately filled with tears.  I am sure she wasn’t expecting such a dramatic answer and I didn’t mean to be shocking.  She expressed concern and asked if I would cry if she hugged me.  I patted her arm and said probably, so she didn’t. 

I sat in the back of the room for the meeting time.  I listened to snatches of conversation throughout the room.  I felt out sync from everyone else but I at least I was there.  I had returned to take back control of an important element of my health choices.  I hope to regain my discipline to continue my progress, one choice at a time.

March 24, 2004
Going to work today, a favorite oldie song came on the radio. The familiar tune transported me in time and I felt like my old pre-cancerous self for a while.  But then I reverted back to constant thoughts about cancer.  Why do I dwell on it so much?  I think about it more than I would ever be willing to talk about it.  I noticed that I can only talk about it for a brief period of time and then I shut down. 

March 25, 2004
It was a month ago today that I was told I have breast cancer.  It has been a long month with more downs than ups.  I suppose it hasn’t helped my emotional state to be taken off my hormone either.  My sleep is delayed by anxious thoughts or interrupted by hot flashes.  My emotional state is fragile.  Hot tears are just a blink away.  A primal urge to scream barely remains under the surface.  I feel pressured to make a decision concerning my treatment recommendations but delay because I am overwhelmed by my own ignorance, conflicting information and self-denial.  I am reminded of the words my niece recently said when she was wrestling with a decision, “I just wish someone would tell me what to do.”  That is exactly how I feel.  I wish someone would tell me what to do. 

March 25, 2004
Without realizing it at the moment, my brother in law helped me make a decision this afternoon.  I had been venting to him about feeling pressured to make a decision concerning my treatment and etc.  He simply stated, “You made a decision.  You made a decision not to make a decision.”  I mulled over that profound concept for a while and decided that he was right on.  I’ve decided to not make a decision right now.  In fact, I decided I am postponing making a decision until after Easter.  I am going to put this on the back burner as much as possible and rejoin the celebration of this beautiful season.  (Postponement is a little more acceptable than procrastination.)




June 22, 2004
I haven’t written in this journal for a long time because frankly, I was so discouraged that I couldn't even write anymore.  I fell into a non-communication hole for a long spell. 

In the last few months I have had many ups and downs.  I have had many days when I could put my health situation back in the recesses of my mind and go about life without thinking about it.  But then the nights catch up to me, and I have lain awake fighting against the powerful grip that fear can have in my heart and mind.  I have learned more about fear in the last few months than in any other time of my life. 

These last few months, I watched a dear friend bravely fight to live with his cancer, while it ravaged his body to a point of non-recognition of his former self.  I struggled with walking through this valley with him as his friend because seeing cancer this up close and personal was too painful to me.  Our dear friend is no longer suffering but with our Lord and Savior. 
While these last few months have been a mixed bag of emotions like fear, joy, frustration, depression, finding delight in the routine of life, or struggling through loss and sorrow, it has been a fruitful journey.  For through it all, I know God is in control.  He will supply our needs.  Many times when I have fought fear, I can only utter, "Trust, and Trust, Trust."  And I do. 

Thanks to the encouragement of a dear friend, I am now able to receive treatment as a patient at the Sarah Cannon Cancer Center at Parkridge Hospital in Chattanooga.  It is a hospital within five miles of our home.  This brings peace to my heart to continue in this direction.

Since May 3rd, I had been trying to be seen by an oncologist so that I could proceed with treatment.  It has been a runaround with the referral department of my doctor's office. It has been a delay after delay with poor communication and lack of medical providers that would take my insurance.  I was told there was no doctor in Chattanooga that would accept my insurance.  Then they found me a doctor in Cleveland (30 miles away) that accepted my insurance.  I waited for that referral to clear. More delay.  Finally I found out that that doctor's office wasn't taking any new patients.  My next option was to go to Athens, TN (very small town about 90 miles away) or go to the Erlanger Tumor Clinic, which is part of the resident of program of our large teaching hospital.  Neither one of these options were appealing.  I unhappily chose to go to Erlanger, knowing I would not have a personal doctor or see the same doctor more than once but at least it was closer in distance and I could proceed with treatment.

And then there was an intervention on my behalf.  My friend called me about two weeks ago and said she'd heard an advertisement on the radio about the Sarah Cannon Cancer Center and decided to call them for me.  She knew I was having difficulty with my insurance and finding a doctor who would take it.  The staff at the center assured her that they accepted my insurance and all I needed was a referral.    After she called me about the center, I called them and talked to a lady named Eleanor.  She was so kind and assured me that they could accept my insurance and all I needed was a referral from my doctor.  I tried several times to get a referral from my doctor's office to the cancer center.  Nothing happened.
In the meantime, my husband and I took advantage of an inexpensive flight into Chicago and I escaped my health crisis for a four-day mini vacation. While I was in Chicago, my oldest daughter called me saying she had had a ten-minute conversation with her ob/gyn doctor about my situation.  He said that it would be better for me to go to Parkridge then to think of going to a small town for treatment. He said he would be glad to send a letter on my behalf to a doctor he knows at the hospital.    
       
On Monday while I was still in Chicago, my daughter called the Erlanger Tumor Clinic to reschedule my appointment on June 16, to buy me more time to see if I could get into Parkridge.  She also called my doctor's office and asked that a note be put on the doctor's desk to get me a referral.  But there was no response back on that.  I called the office on Wednesday and was told that the lady who I had been talking with for the last month in the referral department was no longer at their office.  That was frustrating to me.  I imagined starting off again at square one, explaining the whole story again and what I now needed. 

Finally, I decided to just call the Sarah Cannon Cancer Center myself.  I talked to Eleanor again and even though I was speaking in a quiet calm manner, I know I was rattling through my situation almost too fast because of my frustration level.  Her compassion was comforting.  She asked for my info, set me an appointment and said they would get the referral for me.  I couldn't believe it! I couldn't help thinking it would have been nice if I had that offer a couple of weeks ago, but at least I had it now.

Today was my appointment.  I met Eleanor in person at the reception desk and thanked her for her help.  I took my film and records.  My new doctor, the chief of radiology studied my history and examined me.  He was quite curious about why I had already had a lumpectomy and no lymph nodes checked.  I told him that my surgeon had wanted to take at least 20 lymph nodes indiscriminately and didn't like sentinel node mapping. I also told him that my second opinion breast cancer specialist had told me that sentinel node mapping was the standard treatment of care, which he too, confirmed.   

This new doctor asked me if no one has told me about the urgency of getting treatment for my breast cancer.  I told him that no one has really used that word, but that in the middle of the night, I do think about the urgency of it myself.  I explained how I became lost in the referral delays, insurance problems and communication difficulties with the doctor office.  He said my worries were over and that he would take care of me free of charge just to be sure I received treatment, although my insurance was not going to be a problem there. 
Because it has been 5 months since my lumpectomy, the radiologist is not comfortable treating me without knowing for sure what is going on inside my right breast.  Checking it by mammogram or ultra sound is not an option at this point.  He recommends a surgeon going back into my existing incision site to test the tissue where the lumpectomy was performed. I will also have the sentinel node mapping done.  After about two weeks after these procedures, I will begin a 6 1/2 week radiation treatment Monday through Friday at Parkridge. 

He asked me if I wanted to have the same surgeon do my surgery again.  That was a loaded question and I paused significantly before I answered him.  I told him that while I believe my surgeon to be a good doctor, he did intimidate me and I didn't feel comfortable to go back to him.  I asked what other surgeon I could have.  He said the name of a surgeon who has been my sister-in-law’s doctor for years and she loves him!  I am so excited to get him. 

Another exciting thing happened today.  The radiologist was wearing a cross-shaped American flag pin on his coat lapel.  I remarked that I liked his pin.  I was really fishing to see what the significance of it was to him.  He thanked me and said that someone in his church had given it to him.  I took a bold step and asked him if he was a believer in Christ.  He answered that his belief in Christ was the foundation of his life and that he believed in the Bible and that it is without error.  I told him that we believe that too.  We had a good conversation in this tone for several moments and ended up finding out that he is a member of a church we know well.  I told him it was a blessing to have a fellow believer as my physician.  

He assured me that my situation will be taken care of ASAP from here on and that I would not fall into any more difficulties.  He said that if I don't hear from the new surgeon’s office by tomorrow to call him.  It looks like I will be going to surgery really soon.  I am going to ask to have it done at Parkridge.

 July 8, 2004

My mammogram pictures taken last week came back normal. PTL for that! The spot the surgeon thought he felt as he examined me didn't show up on mammogram.  He has me scheduled for a MRI on each breast next week, July 14 & 15 because he feels an MRI will give him a better picture. 

 My case is being presented to the Tumor Board at Parkridge Hospital this coming Monday, July 12th.  They only meet on Mondays and since it was a holiday this past week, that is why my case has been delayed an extra week.  I will be going to surgery the week of July 19th.  I don't know exactly yet what type of surgery I will be having but for sure I will have the sentinel node mapping. 

It was quite a week.  On Monday and Tuesday night were the MRI's.  Because of the injection of dye, I was told that I couldn't have both breasts done at the same time.

Monday night turned out to be one of my worst experiences in the medical world.  I lay on my stomach on a narrow plastic stretcher with each breast positioned into a hole for the pictures.  The main instructions was do not move at all.  As soon as I was pushed into the cylinder and felt the closeness in there, I felt panic.  I called out, "Pull me out! Pull me out!"  I was surprised that I had that reaction.  I knew I had no other option but to do this.  I told the technician I felt panicky and needed to pray for a minute.  So I prayed, took some deep breaths and told her to push me back in. 

The picture taking is done in segments and I was told each time of how long it would be.  One minute. Four minutes. Fifteen minutes and so on.  I tried to keep track of the segments to see how much longer I would need to endure.  The noise level is so loud that they give you ear plugs.  But the worst for me was the claustrophobic condition.  I tried to sing the one verse of song that came to my mind, 'Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, There's Just Something About That Name.'  Although I could only muster enough concentration to utter Jesus over and over, I did find great comfort in His name.

She'd told me that after 30-45 minutes she would pull me out and give me an injection of dye for the contrasting pictures.  Unbelievably, I started looking forward to that because of the temporary escape from the tunnel.  It is NOT the norm for me to look forward to a needle since I am such a hard, difficult stick.  When I was pulled out, I enjoyed the luxury of moving my head.  She actually got my vein the first time but then it closed off and that began a series of unsuccessful sticks.  My hands are pretty bruised up.  I am not exaggerating to say that I was probably stuck at least a dozen times before she finally got a successful vein. 

I ended up in the tunnel for over two hours on Monday night.  I dealt with the feeling of panic surfacing at any moment, the loud noise, and the needle sticks but back pain brought the tears.  Staying in that position for so long aggravated my back injury from my car accident years ago and I barely endured the pain.  The next day I was so sore that I felt like a 90-year old woman.

Tuesday night was much better.  The technician greeted me with, "I am surprised that you came back."  I replied, "Me too."  Of course, I had to do it since it was for my ultimate good.  My sister in law gave me a pill to relax me and it did help.  I also had an Emergency Prayer team, which I feel really made a difference.  The MRI was only 45 minutes long this time and she got my vein on the first stick.  PTL!

July 23, 2004
Yesterday was surgery day.  I only slept about three hours the night before. I must admit it was very hard to make myself walk in the hospital and submit myself to procedures that caused pain. 

My first procedure was the Sentinel Node Mapping.  It is done in the radiology department by the radiologist.  The hospital radiologist injected dye into my breast six times around the lumpectomy incision.  It was a very painful experience because there is no numbing of the area.  The nurse held my hand and told me to squeeze as hard as I needed to during the procedure.  The doctor and the nurse were very compassionate people.  They engaged me in conversation about my children and grand children, which I found brings a smile to my face even in the most difficult times.

After the dye is injected in the breast tissue, the breast is massaged so that it will spread out and begin filtering into the lymph node passages.  The first lymph node the dye lights up is the sentinel node, which is the objective of this procedure.  I was moved to a table under a camera that takes the pictures of this progress.  It was slow going which Paige said is not unusual. 

I was 45 minutes into this stage of the procedure when my surgeon called.  He requested the area around my nipple to be injected so that more area of my breast would be involved with the dye.  He was concerned about the scar tissue from my lumpectomy interfering with the travel of the dye through my lymph node passage.  The pain of the extra injections was worse and brought me to tears.  A phrase my youngest daughter coined as a second grader receiving an IV came to my mind.  After her nurse poked around looking for one of her little veins and finally found one, my little girl asked, "Mommy, did I cry I brave cry?'  And she had.  Yesterday I too cried a brave cry, a couple of times.

As it turned out, my sentinel lymph node never showed up in the radiation department.  But I was told the surgeon would have better options in surgery to find it.  And I would be asleep and not feel anything.  I was beginning to look forward to be knocked out.

As usual, it was a problem getting a vein for my IV and anesthesia.  The inside of my wrist was tried and in spite of the efforts to numb it, it hurt a lot.  I was asked if I ever had an IV in my foot.  Not my foot.  Please not my foot.  Then the nurse got a vein on my thumb.  Yuck!  Sometimes it seems too gruesome to think about it.  A thumb is bad but not as bad as my foot.  I was very grateful when I felt the relaxing effects of the medication.

When my surgeon came in to talk to me, he told me that my MRI pictures looked normal.  He didn't see any thing that was a problem.  Also the same report for my recent mammograms.  He said that the Tumor Board had reviewed my situation and thought the re-incision of my lumpectomy site was not necessary since the tumor was small and the tissue perimeters had been clear of cancer cells.  The doctor told me he would make an incision under my armpit and insert a probe to try to find the sentinel node.  He said if it is necessary later to go back and take more nodes, he could but at this point, we would try for the sentinel node biopsy.  I am thankful that he is very conservative with surgery.  As he said, we can always go back and take more.  But we can't put anything back once it is taken out.  He said I am at low risk for having affected lymph nodes since my tumor was small and the perimeters were clear. 

I woke up in recovery to find out that he took three lymph nodes.  I will find out more about it on next Monday.  Though I am pretty sore from this surgery, I am so thankful I didn't have to have the other surgery too.  I am taking pain medication that takes the sharp edge off the pain but makes me a little unsteady on my feet. 

I am a little nervous to hear the results of my pathology and schedule of future radiation treatments.  But I have a lot of pluses going for me since my tumor was barely detectable, the perimeters were clear and my mammogram and MRI’s looked good.

July 26, 2004
Today I found out I have cancer in my lymph nodes. 

Interesting that I started my cancer journal on February 26th, 2004 with the words, “Today I found out I have breast cancer. “ Here it is five months later to the date and the news is not much better.  I have barely written in this journal for over four months.  Either I gave it up because of denial, mind exhaustion from thinking about cancer constantly or I was not willing to share my thoughts out loud anymore.  Or maybe it was all of the above.  These last four months fluctuated between days of frustration and cold stark fear in the back of my mind, which usually surfaces in the middle of the night, and then the beautiful contrast of many moments of regular routine, which I totally love and crave.  Today’s news will change all that.  I expect my life will not be my own for the next six months at least.

I went to see my radiologist at the Sarah Cannon Cancer Center this morning.  He is in charge of the center and is the doctor who will be in charge of my radiation treatments.  I had sentinel lymph node mapping done on the 22nd and my surgeon removed three lymph nodes.  I asked what my pathology report was and the doctor secured my report.  I knew something was wrong when he looked at the paperwork and said he needed to ask the pathologist a question.  I figured if the report had said clear he wouldn’t have had any questions.

Sure enough, the radiologist came back with the news I didn’t want to hear.  “Out of the three lymph nodes, two were involved.”  He continued to talk and I interrupted.  “What do you mean involved?”  Oh, I knew.  But I felt like making him say it.  Just tell me.  Your lymph nodes are cancerous.  Why does anyone think the news will be easier to take if it is cloaked in camouflage words like “involved” instead of “invaded” or “infected?” 

Well, the good news is that one lymph node is only “involved” nine millimeters and the other one is only “involved” three millimeters. 
To be brutally honest, that doesn’t sound like any good news to me.  The good news had previously been that my tumor was small and the perimeters were clear.  So how did I get from that good news to this good news?

I can hear a thousand expressions of sympathy from people but it doesn’t take this trial away.  I can hear a thousand prayers are being said for me but I will still walk alone.  It will be me that goes through it.  Everyone else will be on the outer edge but I’ll be the only one right in the middle of it.

I do not want to go on this journey but I know I have no choice.  I feel very mad at God for this.  I feel like my life for the last few months was built on false hope.  And He let me down!  All that early detection crap I’ve heard and relied on has taken me to the place I didn’t want to be.  Now I am going to have to have another surgery and have more lymph nodes taken, do chemo and then radiation.  I am going to go through the whole horrible process.  I fatalistically expect that down the line there will be more bad news.  I’ll likely have all the complications that can come with chemo, lymph node removal and radiation.  I base it on my past experience.  I am living proof of it right now.  It was unexpected for a small tumor to have lymph node involvement. 

So tomorrow I go to another new doctor.  An oncologist who specializes in chemotherapy.  All breast cancer patients lose their hair.  For years I have always said I would not do chemotherapy, if the situation arose.  Now I have to reconsider that because that is what everyone, the medical field, my family and friends expect me to do. 

My poor family, I hate it that they have to go through this.  My husband says he will take it one day at a time.  Maybe he will have to do that for both of us.  My daughters are having the happy life they deserve but now they will have to deal with a sick mother.

My poor little bride to be.   Her wedding is in December.  These last few months were to be a happy time of planning a wedding.  She deserved to have a Mom in it with her like her sisters did.  I will be weak, tired, bald and aged by effects of treatment. 

OK, God.  You allowed this in my life.  You need to help me get through it.  Because right now, I feel totally let down, betrayed, without hope and defeated.  As my Dad reminded me, you were not surprised this morning with this news.  So since you weren’t surprised by the lymph node news, you aren’t surprised at my reaction.   You knew I would feel these feelings.  So even though you feel a billion trillion miles away, I know you hear me.  And I need your help.  My inner voice is screaming at you God.  My fists are clenched and I am shouting at you through my tears, WHY?  WHY? WHY?

July 27, 2004
Our day was filled walking down long hospital corridors on shiny tiled floors to sit in people packed waiting rooms.  It began with a 10:30 a.m. appointment with the oncologist.  We waited almost two hours in the waiting room.  But when it was our turn with the doctor, he gave us his undivided attention, unhurried conversation and demonstrated genuine interest in me.  It was interesting to find out that he doesn’t really accept our insurance.  He took me as a patient because of my radiologist’s call yesterday.  As the oncologist put it, “I am doing this for my very good friend and for your benefit.”  He said he was told him how upset I was yesterday and that he said he would see me today when I was less upset.  (I appear less upset even though I feel dead inside and devoid of any emotions.  But that is today.  Who knows what to expect tomorrow?)  After hearing how I came to be under the care of an obviously skilled doctor, my “God Watcher” ability kicked in and I noted how the Lord provided this for me.  And I am thankful.

The oncologist explained to me that I have Stage II cancer.  I have two positives and one negative going for me.  The negative is of course that cancer has spread to the lymph nodes.  Since it has, it makes it necessary for my body to be treated as a system.  This is why I need chemo to kill any cancer cells that may be traveling to other parts of my body. 

I will receive a cocktail of three drugs a total of six times.  The six treatments will be three weeks apart, which means my treatment, will last for an eighteen-week period.  After that, I will receive one drug four times with three-week intervals between the doses.  My total chemotherapy will span over a thirty week period or in other words, over seven months.  This sounds like forever. 

I wonder what it feels like to have chemicals flowing into your body.  How will I be able to sit there and let it enter my body?  Will I be able to pass the time by reading a book like it is the most normal thing to in my life to do while I am receiving this medicinal poison into my veins?  How sick will I be afterwards?  And how fatigued is fatigue?  I could ask a friend I know who has just gone through it but I don’t know if I really want to know yet.  The doctor said I would receive more explanation about chemo after my lymph node surgery.

I was immediately scheduled me for a MUGA, which is a test of the heart to be sure it is strong enough for chemotherapy.  I was injected with a dye, waited an hour in the waiting room and then spent about thirty minutes lying on a table in Nuclear Medicine while a camera took lots of pictures.  Do I really fathom how significant it is that the strength of the heart has to be considered in this chemotherapy treatment? 

After spending most of our day at the hospital, my husband and I headed home and I was glad to re-enter my world.  Our grandchildren were at the house with my daughter when we got home.  My granddaughter was napping so my grandson and I played together for a little while.  Then my youngest daughter and I headed for the Laundromat since our washer is broken.  We each ended up with eight loads of wash.  I actually relished the act of taking charge of this task, which is always the case when I’ve been removed from my routine.  From my past health problem experiences, being laid up always makes you appreciate the ordinary everyday things of life.

I’ve reread my journal entry from yesterday several times.  It astonishes me that I had the nerve to be that open and actually sent it out.  Since this is a journey, I am trying to record each phase of the trip so that I can see where I have been to appreciate where I am going.  Honesty can be painful to reveal and even painful for others to read.  But it is the truest trip gauge of the journey.  It will be interesting to see how the Lord brings me through it, step by step. 

I know my initial reaction was disappointing to some.  I admit I was a bit of child having a tantrum yesterday.  I was kicking and screaming because I wasn’t going to have my own way.  Admittedly, I still feel a little on the whiney side but I am shifting to a calmer state of acceptance and submissiveness.  My daughter Cindy shared with me a beautiful picture she thought of yesterday.  It is a Steven Curtis Chapman video where a little girl is reaching her arms up to her father.  It is a magnificent portrait of our spiritual reach to our Father when we need to be picked up and comforted.  I am glad that my Heavenly Father still loves me through my naughty streaks, just like I have loved my children and grandchildren through theirs. 

OK Lord.  I realize I am going to suffer some major losses, which is what makes this hard for me.  Losses like my independence, my hair, carefree days, my hair, my health, my hair, my ability to be like I enjoy being and my hair.  Maybe once I lose my hair and get it over with, I will settle down about that.  It just seems an awful thing to lose, even though I’ve mostly had a bad hair life not just a bad hair day.  I was thinking Lord; it would be a nice consolation prize if you would bless me with a thicker head of hair when it does grow back.  I also would like to put my order in for the same color brown and nothing shocking like white or gray. 

My almost four-year-old grandson is old enough to be concerned about my health.  He knows I have been going to doctors and the hospital but sees me looking basically fine.  He is a kind and sensitive boy and at his own initiative, frequently asks me how I am.  He tells his mommy that he needs to bring me flowers to make me feel better. 
Last week I gave him a simple, brief explanation about cancer.  I told him there was a bad thing inside my body called cancer but the doctor’s have medicine to help it go away.  I reminded him about how we prayed for his friend’s grandpa who had cancer.  But he died because the medicine couldn’t help his cancer and Jesus took him to heaven where he wouldn’t hurt anymore. 

Tonight once again on his own initiative, my grandson asked me if I was getting better.  I told him that soon I would be taking stronger medicine to help me and it would make my hair come off my head and I would be bald.  I asked him if he knew what bald meant.  He did.  He was giving me a long look as if he was trying to picture me with no hair.  His eyes were filling up with tears and his lip was curling downward.  I asked him if he would still love Grandma when she was bald.  He shook his head no.  Kids are so honest.  I reassured him that even when I was bald, I would be the same Grandma.  I would sound the same and I would still play with him.   Then I let him in on my plan.  “Grandma is going to buy some new hair to wear until my hair grows back.  It’s called a wig and you will like it.”  He pulled back from our hug and lifted his little face up to me and with hopeful lilt in his voice asked, “Will it be brown Grandma?”  He was very satisfied when I answered yes. 

While I am not looking forward to this next year, at least I have the options I have.  It could be worse.  Many others have gone before me on this journey and suffered more than I will.  Many others have gone before me on this journey and survived well too.  I have such a wonderful army of family and friends standing with me.  And even though I will be the only one facing this particular battle, aren’t each one of us facing things alone but supported by each other? 

I have already received many expressions of love and support from my family and friends.  The encouraging words are sinking in and I am in the process of turning my heart heavenward.  I do want to face this journey bravely while giving the Lord the glory for the many things He will do through it. 

No matter the bumps in the road, the storms of life, the blinding rain of my tears, Jesus is the sunshine of my life.

July 28, 2004
It is incredible that I almost felt giddy today.  What extreme emotions I am experiencing!  What made the difference between being bottomed out in the valley on Monday to soaring to the top of the mountain today?  I believe it is because the prayers of our family, friends and those I don’t know are being answered.  So today I am feeling at peace.  I qualify that by saying ‘today’ because I know that peace is subject to attack by circumstances beyond my control.  It is a moment-to-moment time in my life.

Recently I found an audiotape I had recorded about fifteen years ago of two of my then favorite female vocalists.   I played the tape in my car and its music produced a flood of memories.  It was a passage back in another spiritual time of my life.  My joining in singing with Sandi Patti and Christine Wyrtzen was like a reunion with old friends and revival of my soul.  Today I have been drowning my soul in the waves of their healing music.  Often my soul receives ministry through music more readily than in any other means.

July 29, 2004
My sister came to town today.  Even though we live less than three hours apart, we see each other too infrequently.  Two of my daughters and her new daughter-in-law joined us for a delightful afternoon tea at The English Tea Room.  Personally, I do not care for tea but this is the one time I will sip a cup of tea.  I just cannot resist having my dainty floral teacup filled from a lovely china teapot kept exceptionally hot with its tea cozy. 

The highlight of my sister’s visit came later in the evening.  This summer my sister has gone through her childhood and college keepsakes and downsized her former life into a select few sentimental things.  She brought with her some items she knew would interest me.  It was her Bubble Head Barbie doll from the early 60’s, Ken and a round black Barbie case full of Barbie clothes.  The uniqueness of these childhood belongings is that over forty years ago, I hand sewed the majority of her Barbie’s wardrobe. 

Just seeing the round shiny black Barbie case again sparked a flame of nostalgic fervor. Unzipping the case was like stepping back in time, a time of simplicity and carefree days.  I lifted each garment I had designed and hand sown and its familiarity was incredibly sharp.  Forty years ago suddenly seemed only a breath away.  I immediately began trying each outfit on Barbie.  I relived each garment differently.  Some garments were exceptional successes of my design and even I wondered at my own accomplishments.  It was interesting that my sister and I chose the same outfits as our favorites.

My sister is my only sibling and she is four years younger than me.  When the Barbie doll was introduced, I was entering the age of puberty where I experienced the conflicting emotions of being a little girl one moment and wanting to be a grown up girl the next.  I felt I was too big to play with dolls even though I still wanted to.    So I found a way to ‘play’ with Barbie but in an inconspicuous way that wouldn’t embarrass me.  I created her wardrobe, directed Barbie’s life through my ideas of different games, stories and life scenarios.  My sister loved it.  Barbie became a movie star personality with her own stage name created by me.  Why I chose the movie star name of Mimi Bunzell is unknown.  Barbie slash Mimi Bunzell had a beautiful wardrobe of evening gowns fashioned from discarded clothing my Mother put in her ragbag. 

Tonight after spending a significant amount of time looking through all of the Barbie clothes, my sister and I then moved on to some of my childhood toys.  The midnight hour found me rummaging through the attic to find the tattered but original box of my Deluxe Dream Kitchen with its 176 pieces.  Bringing it down from the attic felt like I had been treasure hunting and had found my bounty. 

The Deluxe Dream Kitchen was a marvel of its time in the early 60’s.  After I saw it in the store, I think I dreamed about having it every night and it was the number one item on my Christmas list.  Alas, my disappointed heart sunk when I opened my last gift that Christmas and I didn’t get the Deluxe Dream Kitchen.  My parents couldn’t afford it.  They did manage to get it for me the following Christmas.  Ironically, my enthusiasm for the kitchen set had waned and now I felt disappointed to have gotten it.  I felt sorry for my parents because they were so pleased they had been able to give it to me.  How could I act happy about a gift I now felt too grown up to call my own?

The solution once again came back to my sister.  I incorporated the kitchen set into her Barbie’s life.  This way I could manage to play with it because it did still intrigue me.   We dedicated the entire bottom of our closet as Barbie’s domain.  The left side of the closet was her kitchen supplied by the Deluxe Dream Kitchen with its sink and dishwasher with the capabilities of running water, a stove with burners that lit up bright red and a turkey on a rotisserie that turned and a refrigerator with shelves that swung out to fill with plastic fruit, vegetables, meat and milk bottles.  The cupboards were filled with miniature boxes of cereal, cookies, cleaning products and paper goods.  There was also a set of dishes, flatware and pans to set upon a white table with four chairs.  The other side of the closet was devoted to Barbie’s boudoir, which included a canopy bed, dresser, nightstand and various accessories. 
But back to the present, this night was a uniting of the spirits of two young sisters though now well hidden in our present adult state.   Together once again, my sister and I handled each of nearly all of the 176 pieces that were wondrously still intact.  Frequently we began talking simultaneously about a memory triggered by our walk down memory lane.  The sibling connection is amazingly unique, especially when our thoughts are frequently verbalized in duet. 

When we retired to bed in the wee hours of the morning, I laid awake for probably another hour.  It was like I had just watched a video clip of my growing up years and I was savoring its clear images.  My sister and I shared a closeness most sisters can identify with.  We rarely fought as my parents can attest and our childhood was filled with days of imagination and creativeness unpolluted by the stifling grip of television.

After seeing and holding my Barbie creations once again, it was remarkable to find that my stitches of love and time sown over forty years ago for my sister still hold.  I was reminded of how much more do the stitches of love and time sown in my life by my Heavenly Father still hold.  And though my life felt quite unraveled this week, the double stitch He has sown in my life is eternally in place.  Though my life garment may become tattered from the wear and tear of daily trials, its basic construction holds because His pattern is without error.  He is the master designer and creator and He is in control. 

July 30, 2004
The wind was blowing my hair today.  I couldn’t help but think of when the wind won’t blow my hair for a long time.  I read hair loss is almost immediate after the first dose of chemo.  Before I lose my hair, I am going to take a drive on the ridge with all my car windows and sunroof open like I have done many other times.  I will let my hair swirl about my head until the exhilarating freedom of the wind blown hair experience is deeply engrained in my mind. 

When the first fistful of hair loosens from my head, I will ask my hairdresser friend to take the rest off.  I will not let it go fistful by fistful.  I will control its departure.  Then I will put away my electric curlers, my White Rain hairspray, and hair clips.  I will wear the wig that will be my new friend through the stark nakedness of my new baldhead.  Thusly, having a plan to solve this hair issue in my mind I can begin thinking of how I will handle the other side effects of chemotherapy, like nausea and fatigue. 

July 31, 2004
It is the end of the week.  I am glad that I was able to move past the devastation the first of the week brought me.  I am glad that I am able to enjoy this brief reprieve of a week or two before my axillary lymph node dissection.  I am glad my surgeon was not willing to take me back to surgery within the same week of my sentinel node biopsy.  I am glad that he is going to be out of town next week for his own good and the delay it affords me.  I am glad to have time to finish some home projects before the painful soreness of surgery and the effects of a drastic treatment hamper me.  I am glad to be able to be like myself this week for my family, friends and me.

It will be another bump in the road for me when the surgery date is set.  The surgery date will become a countdown to the takeoff for my unknown journey into the world of cancer treatment and its effects.  I dread the following events of my surgery.  Like when I awake from surgery with a special port insert located beneath my skin on my chest for the chemo.  Or coping with the drainage tube for fluids that I will have under my arm for 10 to 14 days.  The knowledge that I will be minus two layers of lymph nodes, the very lymph nodes I fought to keep will be a difficult adjustment to me even though I know the loss is necessary.  I am forced to trade the loss of lymph nodes, which can compromise my health in a worse manner in exchange for a new set of concerns, which will be a lifetime focus of lymphedema prevention in my right arm.  And I am a totally right handed person. 

My oncologist’s description of cancer as not only being a disease of the body but of our emotional state as well is very accurate.  Because of not suffering any physical effects at this point, I have all my faculties focused on the emotional aspects.  It is difficult to remain emotionally healthy and unscathed but I choose to do so.  I do not choose to wallow in self-pity and defeat.  I may periodically fall spiritually and emotionally but I will get back up.  If I forget this, I will reread my words to remind myself.  Or more likely someone will remind me.  If I can’t get up unassisted, I know helping hands will be there for me.

This week I have received a mega dose of soul medicine through calls, cards, letters, flowers, gifts, visits and family time.  It has helped to feel the outpouring of love from so many.  “In all things, give thanks.”  Today I am able to sincerely say that I know I am thankful that this is happening to my body and not to any one else that I love.    Thank you for the protection of those I love, Lord.  Please continue to bless each one of their lives with good health and direct all our paths in the way that pleases you. 

August 2, 2004
I received THE CALL today.  My Axillary Lymph Node Dissection surgery date is August 9, 2004 11:00 a.m. 
The countdown begins.

August 3, 2004
I woke up at 7:30 a.m. with terrible itchy toes on my left foot.  Anyone who knows me well knows that I cannot stand anything that itches.  I was in such agony that I got up to put my foot on ice just to numb the itch away.

I went to a morning matinee with my oldest daughter, my grandkids, her friend and kids.  Even being with my adorable grand kids did not distract me from the increasing painful burning itch of my left foot.  I noticed my foot was swelling.  It felt like I was walking on a golf ball stuck beneath my toes.  My middle daughter joined us for lunch at the mall.  By this time, I was limping and not feeling so good.

After lunch, I did some errands with Misty.  By mid afternoon, I noticed a slight rash that looked much like poison ivy, oak or sumac appearing on my hands and arms.  I am highly allergic to all of the above and it doesn’t take long for it to get into my system and leave me in agony.

I called my primary care doctor on my cell phone and was told to come immediately to the office. My daughter graciously went with me and we waited for a couple of hours.  I understood the wait since it was an unscheduled appointment but it was miserably long with my foot consumed in a burning itch.  I sat on the table swinging my foot continuously as if to try to shake the itch away.  My whole being was becoming consumed with the itch and it was pushing me to the brink of temporary insanity.  I considered jumping up and running down the hall screeching in pain.  Or getting some attention by ripping everything off the walls in my little cubby hole room.  Instead I sat quietly, appeared patient and succumbed to tears only once.

Finally, I got a steroid and a Benadryl shot accompanied with a prescription for Prednisone tabs for the next 10 days.  I am thankful I got treated before it got worse and relief is now in sight.  I have no idea how I got this since I haven’t been working in the yard or hiking.  Even though it seems like my feet are mostly on pavement, something, somewhere, somehow caused my feet to go awry.

Probably I was a big baby about this new ailment today.  I was wondering how tough I will be when I am coping with the effects of chemo.  I hope better than I was today. 


August 4, 2004 Morning
This morning I was scheduled for pre testing for my surgery next Monday.  I called to tell them I would be delayed because of a medical problem.  In the meantime, I tried contacting my surgeon’s nurse to inform her of my new situation.  I knew my steroid shot and Prednisone prescription was important information to pass on from past experience.  Ironically, nine years ago when I was scheduled for my hysterectomy, a nurse drawing blood for pre-testing infected me with poison ivy.  My condition was so severe that I received three shots, a steroid pack and my hysterectomy was postponed until I recovered. 

After a few tries, I was so relieved to hear my surgeon’s nurse answer my call because her friendly, kind manner is very reassuring.  My surgeon happens to be out of the country this week visiting his mother so his nurse is the decision maker.  When I gave her the scenario, she recommended a postponement of my surgery even though the doctor is anxious to do my surgery since I have had so many delays.  She said she is highly allergic herself.  But I can’t go to surgery with a problem that can become a complication.  She offered me the choice of two surgery dates, Friday the 13th or August 16th.  I chose the 16th, not because I am superstitious but because I wanted to enjoy another full weekend before pain and drainage tube. 

I don’t understand why this has happened.  I only know that it is beyond my control but I will look for the blessing in these circumstances.  Another reprieve means I will be able to accomplish a few more projects around the house that require physical strength and two good arms. 

The countdown has been paused.

August 4, 2004 late afternoon
I have a cousin living in Wisconsin that I hardly knew growing up because I lived in Florida most of my growing up years.  When my family did visit Wisconsin relatives every couple of years, this cousin was a little older than me and didn’t hang out in my cousin age circle. 

But the last couple of years, I have enjoyed getting to know her through e-mail.  She suffers with many physical trials but her spirit soars.  She writes upbeat family letters and entertains us with her humorous outlook on everyday life. 

Today I received an e-mail she wrote me about a friend of hers who has lung cancer.  She has been sharing my journal with this lady.  Her friend appreciated seeing that I too, have my ups and downs but have shown strength and courage.  This was an opening for my cousin to share with her friend the source of my strength.  She had the privilege of talking to her friend about Christ.  I am amazed and humbled to see the power of the Lords testimony used through my everyday words as I have shared from my heart.  

August 4, 2004 Midnight
“You are so good.  You are so good, so good to me.”
“I will sing your praises, sing them one by one.”
“I will sing your praises, glorify the Son”
This song has been running through my head as I look back on the many ways God’s family has ministered to me recently; A chicken casserole, Banana Pudding which is my favorite desert, home grown garden tomatoes, the excerpt from a Spanish devotional book and its encouragement lovingly translated for me by my Hispanic friend, a majestic floral arrangement sitting regally on my dining room table, an invitation to ‘double date’ to dinner and a play at The Little Theater with new friends we are getting to know, an upcoming visit next weekend from college friends, a reunion after my August 16th surgery with my best friend from high school who I haven’t seen for thirty years, a brand new washer and dryer set I really, really wanted even though I could have used a mismatched set my husband picked up from somewhere,  cards with encouraging words and scripture verses written out for immediate comfort reading, even cards from the daughters of my friends and cards from the friends of my daughters, a commitment from my buddy to stick with me through the whole siege and an offer to help in anyway, even to clean my toilets (and she would),  a friend’s thoughtful gift of a book all about breast cancer written by a Christian physician which has been so helpful, going out to eat with our long time friends almost every weekend, catch up lunches with friends, friends taking time to stop over and spend time with me, extra opportunities to spend time with my kids and their families, peach colored roses from my grandson (his favorite color is orange), the same identical flowers from my newlywed daughter (these are her favorite color roses too), a card from my last daughter at home offering a commitment of prayer time with her, an understanding husband about the late hours I keep at the computer writing my journal, concerned calls and consistent prayer support from my Mom and Dad who wrestle with their own health issues, a surprise “Pamper Myself” gift from my aunt in Illinois, and many prayer lists in churches and prayer chains with my name added on. 
“You are so good.  You are so good, so good to me.”
“I will sing your praises, sing them one by one.”
“I will sing your praises, glorify the Son”

August 5, 2004 early a.m. hours
Sometimes I wonder why I think about the things that I think about.  Why do I react the way I do?  Why do I frequently lay awake at night thinking of parables in ordinary remote things?  Am I too morbid?  Why do I see such great significance in the most common of things?  I recently began tracing back this penchant I have for mourning the oddest of happenings in life after my weekend visit with my sister. 

My sister told me a story that triggered several memories of my own reactions.  She recently traded in her 1999 Buick for a Lexus 2001. It was definitely a trade up since the Lexus has many luxury features, but most importantly super efficient A.C.  Her Buick’s air was barely cooling at all in spite of the hefty repair bill they paid last year to get it going.  But the most interesting part of her story for me was when she told me how she felt so bad to leave the Buick behind at the dealership.  She said it was like forsaking an old friend even though the car had made her life rather miserable these last few hot months.

This is another sister thing that we share because we are from a family lineage which specializes in sentimental drivel.  I say that in a bluntly honest but loving way.  My paternal grandfather was the King of Sentimentality.  He named his big black beauty of a car, Pocahontas.  I think he even named his unstoppable black typewriter he typed on with two fingers for hours every day in his study.  My father, a private pilot is also very sentimental and can’t bear to part with large machinery like airplanes and cars, even though he obviously has had to do so over the years.  A few years ago, he grieved greatly over the news that one of his former planes, the DC-3 Flagship for the aviation ministry he founded in the 60’s had crashed.  Thankfully, no one was hurt in the crash but in my father’s eyes, the plane was a keen loss of a tool that provided many years of faithful service.  Our family also grieves over the departure of pets, which have become like family members.  They always receive a proper burial.  My Dad goes as far to give each pet its own grave marker. 

I too, have moments where unexplainable sentimentality surfaces illogically.  I have grieved at odd times.  Like over my last menstrual cycle before my hysterectomy.  I was genuinely sad to end this part of my womanly being.  Who would have thought this is something I would find needed mourning time?  How about the way seeing leftover dishes still sitting at the breakfast table after the departure of a loved ones visit affects me?  Who could imagine this sight brings me to tears?  Why do I think morosely how just a few moments ago, my loved ones were seated at the table using these dishes?  Now I try to clean off the table before company leaves and put the dishes out of sight in the dishwasher.  Or why is it I won’t watch a car carrying departing loved ones drive away anymore because I don’t want that to be my last image in my mind?  Why do I think like this?  Being overly sentimental can be overly consuming at times and overly tiring.
I have shed many tears grieving over animals over the years that weren’t even pets.  One of the strangest grief’s I experienced was over a stray cat I ended up returning to the road where I had picked it up.  My oldest daughter and I had mercifully rescued the cat from what we thought would surely be its demise if she stayed in the middle of the road we were traveling.  We stopped the car and the cat easily came to us.  We unsuccessfully tried to find its home at a nearby house and in the process the cat apparently got frightened and sunk its teeth into my daughters arm.  Now we had to take the cat home for observation for ten days because of the risk the cat might have rabies. 

We kept her shut up in the downstairs bathroom because of the other two cats we had in the house.  I ducked in and out for quick feedings and the cleaning of the cat box.  Sometimes the cat purred and then suddenly growled in a sinister way.  In spite of being a cat lover, I began to dislike and fear this cat.  It seemed like we had brought the Cat from Hell to our home.  When the ten-day observation was over and hadn’t shown any signs of rabies, it was time to rid our life of this inconvenient problem. 

I gingerly shoved the cat into the cat carrier and drove off for the location where we had found her.  It was only a few blocks from my work.  It wasn’t easy dumping a reluctant cat out of a cat carrier out on the road quickly before someone saw me.  I felt like a horrible bad pet owner.  When I drove off, I told myself repeatedly not to look back.  But I did.  There stood the little black cat looking at my car speeding down the road saying, “How could you treat me like this?”  It took me hours to get over it.  And it wasn’t even a cat that I liked. 

And back to speaking about cars, I have had a couple of those strange moments myself.  We had a Chevy Malibu station wagon for many years.  I never liked station wagons because of its lack of a sporty style and my mental image of a station wagon usually had about a dozen kids hanging out the windows.   This little mid size station wagon however came into our lives during a difficult financial time via my parents help.  I was grateful to have wheels and at least it wasn’t one of those monster sized huge wagons.  She had a few flaws, like a sagging headliner that we called the Arabian look but she drove well.  The girls and I named her Molly Malibu. 

Molly ended up being a spiritual object lesson for our girls.  Her high mileage eventually brought on a series of mechanical problems we struggled to keep up with.  It didn’t impede us from our travels though and we began praying Molly to each destination around town and out of town.  Our last trip with her was to Florida to visit my parents.  We prayed her down there and she buzzed right along making the trip fine.  On our return trip with only two hours left to go, Molly blew something in her engine and we chugged the rest of the way home.  My husband jokingly said we forgot to pray her back home.  But she did get us back home even though it was slow going. 

The time had arrived to let her go.  We parked her on the side road next to our house with a For Sale sign in her window.  An elderly man a few miles away bought her knowing she was now only a little chugger.  But that was all he needed.  We felt bad to let her go; after all she had taught us many lessons of faith and appreciation in the simple pleasures in life. 

For several months after we sold her, the girls would frequently ask me to drive by the man’s house that bought Molly.  We found comfort in seeing her parked in his driveway.  It was a drive by visit to see an old faithful friend.  Then one day she was no longer there and that was the end of our loop to check on her.  To this day, if I am on that street I am reminded of Molly sitting in that driveway and I thankful for the many lessons that were learned through her. 

Then there is the time when I finally had persuaded my husband to get rid of the 10-year-old Chevy (Katie) Caprice that I was driving.  Yes, I had named her too.  She still floated down the road smoothly and was a nice ride but Katie had lost her looks.  I was embarrassed to be seen in her.  My husband found a buyer who was willing to give a couple of hundred dollars for her.  At last I was getting rid of the car and could move up.  The day of the sale, I felt like I was betraying an old friend.  I astonished my husband by asking him if we should really sell her.  He reminded me of all my complaints.  So we sold her and a couple of days later I was over it.

So is it any wonder that I am a sentimental fool about the upcoming loss of my hair?  I cry over cars for pity sake.  Or is it any wonder that I am already grieving over the future state of my right arm, my right-handed arm that I am so dependent upon?  This is how I have always been about things.  So I am still on track, I am just being normal me.  The stakes are a little higher, a little harder this time around but I have had practice in coping with losses in little things.  I will cope with these too. They aren’t so big.  After all, hair will grow back.  My arm isn’t being cut off.  Like the story goes, “I complained I had no shoes.  Then I saw a man who had no feet.”  Things could always be worse.

There are many painful and fearful life events in life that we all dread.  Divorce, death of a family member or friend, the disappointment in children who have made wrong choices that bring them a lifetime of consequences, financial struggles, departing from spiritual truth, loneliness, living with potentially life threatening illnesses like cancer, heart disease, diabetes, or debilitating immune disorders like rheumatoid arthritis are some of the struggles of dear people that I know.   We are all in battle together, whatever our struggle and we that know the Lord personally can draw upon his strength to make it through. 

A friend of mine wrote that she was disappointed in herself for fretting over the invasion of crab grass in her newly seeded yard.  As she bent over to pull the invader weed from her lawn, she thought of me.  “Would Nancy be worrying over this crab grass?”  Meaning, unwanted weeds in a yard pale significantly against the worries of having to deal with cancer.  Yes, Nancy probably would.   And I have worried over things much less worrisome than crab grass just a few months ago.  No problem should be measured and seen as trivial just because it is not as big as other problems.  Each individual has problems that are distinctly worrisome to him or her and it requires a daily victory.  It is through our daily victories over small things that we practice our skills for the big things that eventually come our way.  So pull the crabgrass out of your life today because perhaps tomorrow may be a bumper crop of some unpleasant intruder and you will have built up the knowledge, skill and stamina of how to deal with it. 

August 5, 2004 almost dawn
During the break in my journaling, I attended two funerals.  One was a former church member we didn’t know as well but we admired the family.  He found out he had cancer and was gone within a few weeks.  It was a shock.  His wife always a quiet shy individual bravely stood at the back of the church to shake hands and give hugs to everyone who came to her husband’s funeral.  It was a touching gesture of thanks on her part.

At this same time we were also dealing with our dear friend of twenty years that was living with terminal colon and liver cancer.  Each time we visited him we were shocked at the effects the cancer was having on his appearance but amazed at his spiritual journey. 

One time when he was hospitalized we went to visit him.  We hadn’t seen him for over a month.  We easily found his room number and knocked quietly.  Someone said come in.  I opened the door slowly and immediately saw a patient in bed.  I looked back quickly for the room number to see if we had gotten the wrong room because I didn’t recognize the patient or his visitor.  I was certain we had made a mistake.  I was ready to apologize for my intrusion but before I could, I recognized a family member in the background.  This was our friend.  Each time we saw him he looked older and thinner.  He was wasting away.  The only recognizable character about him was his voice and his personality.  It broke our hearts to see his steady decline.  As each visit progressed, we would recover from our initial shocked reaction and focus on the aspects of the dear friend we knew so well.

He was hospitalized only a few times during his seven-month battle with cancer.  We were with his wife and family when he went to surgery for a blockage in his colon.  The doctor came out to inform the family that the liver was encased in cancer and predicted only a matter of a couple of weeks left.  This news and the pain it was costing the family devastated us.  His wife had been partnering with her husband in a nutritional approach coupled with spiritual emphasis and believing in faith for healing.  It broke our hearts to see his elderly parents who never imagined their son would be so seriously ill but were facing it bravely nonetheless.  Watching their son and daughter with their young babies and realizing these grandchildren were going to miss out on knowing a wonderful grandfather was also heart wrenching.  We watched his sister and her daughter filling in the needed places of comfort in the family. 

But that bleak moment was replaced by a new memory the next day.  We went back to the hospital to visit and our patient was doing surprising well.  His spirits were up.  He was sitting in bed eating breakfast.  He had an IV with pain medication readily available whenever needed.  He had IV fluids going throughout his body to hydrate him well.  It was the best condition we had seen him in a long time.

I stopped in his room the next day too, since I had a doctor’s appointment in the same hospital.  This time I was able to walk the halls with both of our friends.  It gave me a little bit of time to reminisce about some of the funny things that had happened over the years.  All of us always enjoyed joking around with each other.  I really wanted to go further and tell him how much he meant to us.  But it would sound too much like a statement of finality.  Besides, I think he knew how much he meant to us without us saying it out loud.  This hospital visit was the best connection I had since the diagnosis of his illness.  His personality seemed like it had completely returned and it almost made me think the doctor could be wrong about his prognosis.

Our friend outlived the doctor’s prognosis of time left on earth by a few extra weeks and then our dear friend went to be with the Lord.  He began declining after a couple of weeks of perked up health.  He suffered in pain the last two weeks of his life.  And especially the last two days were very painful for him and those that loved him so. 

My heart felt like it was wrenched out of my chest when my daughter told me our friend had died.  She had called me at work and asked me if I was going to stop over at her house on my way home.  It was one of the few times I have declined and said I would go home because I had been feeling unexplainably depressed all afternoon.  She said she had something to tell me but not over the phone.  I immediately sensed what it was and did not ask any questions.  I said I would come right over.  I cried all the way over to her house.  I knew what she was going to tell me.  When she saw the obvious signs that I had been crying, she asked me if someone one had called me with the news.  I asked what news.  She said, “Ken died this afternoon.”  I sat down on her front porch step and sobs from the depths of my being wracked my body.  I was grieving the loss of our friend, all the times we would never have with him again, and the unbearable loud silence his absence would make in the lives of those who loved him.

My husband and our other long time friend were two of the pallbearer’s.  It was certainly a privilege to be asked to share in the last moments of honoring the well-spent life of a friend.  It was also very sad to see my husband carrying the casket of his friend.  The last earthly deed he would do for his friend.  Very sobering. 

I stood as close as I could to the canopied seating area that sheltered the family from the hot sunshine at the graveside.  I wanted to be as near as possible to my friend, the grieving widow.  She was thin and frail looking.  She must have been near physical exhaustion from the many months of short nights of sleep and all the energy it took emotionally and physically as the main caretaker.  She gave him excellent care, support and was such a faithful blessing to him.  The only time I ever heard him choke up with emotion after he found out he had cancer was when he told me some nights he would wake up and see his wife praying for him.  He said she was the Biblical example of the virtuous woman.  

We miss our friend but know he is with the Lord and pain free.   His missing place in the family unit is painful to see.  And the grief and loneliness that his wife and family are experiencing makes us feel helpless.  We can’t take the pain away.  It is a process that only time can lessen and a process they must go through.  Only our prayers for comfort and healing will avail much.

So now I will say the final goodbye I wished I could have said to Ken.  Ken, we will miss you so much.  I think of you whenever I see a corvette.  I remember our funniest outing when we were cracking up laughing at Gula’s like a foursome of crazy teenagers.  You had a quick wit and I loved your one-liners.  I remember how you gave Vance the perfect gadget gift one Christmas, The Clapper.  Everyone knows he loves gadgets and The Clapper was a big hit.  I thought the two of you would wear it out in the first hour after he opened it.  I remember when you encouraged Vance to get into some ‘cool duds’ to go out on our outings.  You gifted him with a pair of khaki shorts and a nice polo shirt.  Your family was one of the few families we ever took trips with besides our own family.  Our trip to Chicago was one of the most memorable in Vance’s newly acquired Chevy suburban.  You nicknamed it the Wally World Mobile.  I later changed it to the Green Machine.  The trip to the Biltmore house for the weekend was a blast.  Especially since we were in two cars and we followed you around turn for turn while you got us lost.  And all the time we were filming you and making comments.  Later we made you a videotape of our trip and you enjoyed a good laugh off our comments.  You were so persnickety about your vehicles and kept them up so well.  But the irony of it was one of your cats wet in our car when it was parked in your driveway.   We had stopped to pick you and Carolyn up to go to a Brave’s game and we’d left our car door open for a short interval.  We all suffered smelling a good dose of cat pee most of the trip.  We teased you about setting us up with that cat of yours as payback for the hamster we gave you that ended up with only one eye after you got it home.  We still insist that it left our house with two eyes intact.  How about the time we followed the church bus Vance was driving for the youth to a camp in Mentone Alabama?  We traveled the dusty bumpy road back to camp about 5 miles an hour, trying to keep a great distance to keep from choking on the dust the bus was stirring up and not rattling your car too pieces.  We did all this just to eat at the charming little restaurant in town and of course, to bring Vance back home and leave the bus at the camp for a week.  We enjoyed our Awana outings with you and Carolyn too.  All those overnight camping trips in the cave we did.  You were always particular about your hair and fussed as much over your hair the next morning as all of us women did. 

I respected your spiritual victories and the evidence of it in your life.  You were always a faithful friend.  When we were not attending the same church anymore and fell into the habit of getting together less often, we still knew our friendship was solid.  You were only a phone call away, always a friend who could be counted on. 

We desire to be friends that can be counted on for your wife, your children and the parents you left behind as they adjust to your absence.  Who would have ever thought, you, the health nut of the four of us would be the first one to go?  It still doesn’t seem real.  But we can look forward to a reunion with you someday.  You just got there a little ahead of us.  See you later, Ken.

Time to stop writing. I have written all night.  Dawn has arrived.

August 16, 2004
Today I go to surgery.  Amazingly, I am calm and living in the peace that is beyond understanding. “The peace of God, which transcends all understanding” Philippians 4:7 The mental countdown that I expected I would be dwelling on did not resume in my mind.  In fact, the last two weeks have been full of blessings and spiritual growth. 

As I think back over the last two weeks, I am amazed to see the outpouring of the Lord’s blessing upon my life.  The unexpected postponement of my surgery due to the poison ivy outbreak became a blessing in disguise, (once the itching subsided).  Being on a heavy dose of steroids gave me an extra burst of energy for the first week, even resulting in not sleeping 40 hours straight.  But I was able to accomplish many of the projects I felt needed to be done before my surgery and recovery period. 

We enjoyed two weekends in a row of unseasonably cool autumn feel good weather.  It was perfect as one of the weekends was our grandson’s fourth birthday party.  His Peter Pan party was perfect with his parents dressed as Capt. Hook and Wendy.  His little sister was Tinker Bell.  And of course, our grandson was decked out as Peter Pan.  The guests came as pirates, Indians, mermaids, and nightgown clad little girls.  The shaded backyard was the perfect spot for games, food and fellowship.  Me, Grandma, well I got in the spirit too.  I wore an Indian dress, headdress and beads.

Monday, August 9
I spent an evening with my recently widowed friend.  We had dinner and went to a lighthearted chick flick.  On the way home the conversation grew serious as we talked about why hard things happen, like the suffering and death of a husband to cancer.  I told her that I know why suffering and trials happen.  The only purpose is to glorify the Lord.  She began to cry and said I sounded just like her husband.  I was sorry to have upset her.  Later when I thought back to that part of the conversation, I was amazed.  I hadn’t even realized I had reached this point in my journey.  I have accepted this trial, surrendered to it, and have determined that I will allow the Lord to work through me for His ultimate purpose and glory. 

Wednesday, August 11
I received an unexpected call from my friend inviting me to meet her and her husband for lunch.  It had been a hectic morning beginning at the hospital for pre-surgery testing which delayed me getting to the office.  I felt pressured about the work I needed to do but felt it was more important to meet my friends for lunch.  Our friend was supposed to have started chemotherapy that morning.  Something had changed. 

When I arrived at the restaurant, my friends were already seated in the booth and our food had arrived.  I slid into my side of the booth, looking at my friend, trying to read what was going on.  Her husband was busily tackling his plate, eating has been an effort for him since the tumor has numbed one side of his face.  After awhile, my friend and I began mouthing news back and forth.  No chemo.  Too much cancer.  In the brain.  In the lungs.  My heart sunk.  It really wasn’t unexpected news.  We have watched our friend decline dramatically over the last two months.  But the news was hard to hear because it was now a fact. 

In a few minutes, I felt it only right to address the situation to my friend himself.  I asked about his chemo.  He answered me without looking up.  “No chemo.”  Then he looked up from his plate and looked directly at me, “Too far gone, you know what I mean?”  I replied, “Yes, I know what you mean and I am sad to hear that.”  He lowered his gaze back to his plate and said, “The sovereignty of God, its all about the sovereignty of God.”  After we finished our lunch, the three of us had a blessed time of sharing together.  Three of Gods children resting in the sovereignty of God and trusting our life to Him. 

Thursday, August 12
I kept a post op appointment with my radiologist even though I figured he didn’t know I had my surgery postponed.  I wanted to tell him personally how the Lord has been working in my life.  This is the doctor who told me about my lymph node involvement and I had left his office devastated.  Both the doctor and nurse took a seat as I shared briefly my spiritual journey.  It is such a blessing to be spiritually likeminded in a situation like this.  My doctor shared Hebrews 11:1   “Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.”  My doctor told me that through the power of our Lord Jesus Christ, he would be with me every step of the way through my treatment.  He said he is not the best doctor in town but he knows the best doctors and will be sure I get them.  This support is incredible. 

This past weekend we were blessed with a special visit from my college roommate and her husband.  I cannot even express how much their visit meant to me.  They had been vacationing in North Carolina and drove an extra 400 miles to swing by for a visit.  We have kept up with each other over thirty years.  Because of their extra effort to come to Chattanooga more often then we have ever gone to Cincinnati, we get together about every two years.  We always pick up wherever we left off.  Good friends are like that.  
This summer our friend had several months of his own physical trial and shared how the Lord sustained him through it and the support of his people.  Being with old friends, renewing the old ties, reviving the memories, reconnecting of our spirits…it is a blessing beyond words. 

Yesterday I received a beautiful story from my niece about an incident with their two-year-old son.  It is a story worth remembering as I compare it with my life at this time.
“We went to visit family today.  Walking into their Chicago apartment building, we were impressed by the marbled floors in the lobby, which were highly glossed making it possible to see your reflection. I guess Dylan had never walked on marble floors before.  Anyway, Dylan wouldn't budge.  He just kept looking down at his feet.  We kept telling him it was ok to walk.  Finally after taking his hand he started walking on the floor but kept saying to himself, "I'm ok, I'm ok."  Then we got to the elevator.  We all got on but he kept staring down at the crack between the floor and the door.  Again we kept trying to coax him on the elevator.  He finally took a huge step over the crack then kept repeating to himself, "I'm ok, I'm ok." 
Yes, like this two-year-old little child, I too was reluctant to venture out onto the new ground of this experience.  I was so consumed by the unfamiliarity of this trial that I could not see the beauty of the marble floor.  The beauties of trials are the blessings beyond measure, grace to sustain, strength to endure, peace to accept and faith to go on.  I was too fearful to step over the crack between my normal routine life and the new developments.  As I allowed the Lord to work in my life, I was able to step over the crack and I too found out, “I’m ok, I’m ok.” 

In fact, I spent several months answering the question, “How are you?” with an “I’m ok.”  I couldn’t say I was fine.  I was ok, meaning I was surviving.  Now I’ve noticed I am answering the inquiry with an “I’m fine. Or even I’m good.”  I am good, meaning I am living in the trial and finding God is good.

“Turn your eyes upon Jesus, look full in his wonderful face, and the things of earth will grow strangely dim, in the light of his glory and grace.”



August 18, 2004
I am two days out from surgery and it went well.  I woke up from anesthesia, which is always a good sign that things went well.  I have awakened from surgery this year three times this year.  Upon awaking, I have noticed I hear an involuntary groan escape from myself.    Immediately I am informed I will be receiving something for pain.  Too bad that you aren’t given pain medication before you have to groan for it but I guess they want you awake before they drug you.

Speaking of alert, I was still pretty alert when I was taken to the OR.  I was watching the preparations for the site of my Port-A-Cath, which is for my chemotherapy treatments.  It is on my left side.  I even recognized my doctor with his mask on.  Then mercifully I conked out and I didn’t wake up until the recovery room. 

The nurse that escorted me from recovery to my room for the night was impressed with my alertness.  As we were leaving recovery, I saw my anesthesiologist.  I called out to him saying, Thanks, Dr. Roach.  My nurse said it is unusual to come off anesthesia remembering anyone’s name.  I told her that I also remembered my nurse’s name before surgery, Clyde. Again, she was impressed.  So I scored high in the memory game.

Within minutes of my arrival to my room, I was glad to hear my husband’s voice in the hallway and know he was nearby.  He briefed me on the doctor’s report.  My doctor told him the surgery went well except for a problem with my IV infiltrating. Several attempts were made to get another IV started but my veins were not cooperating.  It ended up the Port-A-Cath was used for my IV and pain medication.  My surgeon preferred not doing this because of the risk of infection but I guess there weren’t too many other choices.  I am just glad that I didn’t wake up during surgery, if that is possible.  Before surgery when I was getting prepped, I told my nurse Clyde that I was a hard stick with my poor veins.  He informed me that I had no veins.    This is the story of my life, deep, small wiggly veins that elude the best of the best stickers.  So I scored low on the good vein game.

My right arm where the lymph nodes were removed had a deep, deep ache and the area where my Port-A-Cath was implanted was painful too.  It makes me weak to think of this apparatus implanted inside me.  I know I will ignore this site as much as possible.  I examined both of my arms and they were marked with several bruises from the unsuccessful IV sticks.  My left forearm where the IV infiltrated was the worst and the entire area was significantly covered with bruising.

Our entire family came up to my hospital room in the evening.  Our middle daughter thoughtfully made a meal for the rest of the family, which she toted up.  I ate hospital food because it was bland and I thought my system would handle it better.  I was very comfortable with my pain management while the family was there and enjoyed the visit immensely.  After they left, my brother-in-law and sister-in-law came. 

I didn’t take any pain medication while I was “entertaining” but after everyone left, I was ready to sleep.  I asked for pain medication.  I was given morphine.  I was told in answer to my inquiry that morphine usually doesn’t make people sick.  But within 30 seconds of it being in my system, I was sick.  My husband expertly attended my needs with great kindness.  I was sick a second time about two hours later after getting up to go to the bathroom. 

My husband stayed the entire night with me although I tried to persuade him to go home.  I didn't want him to sleep in the chair that makes into an uncomfortable bed.  But he stuck it out with me. 

The morning was a bit of a blur because I was groggy from the pain medication.  My surgeon came and checked on me.  He ordered the IV removed from my Port-A-Cath.  I was surprised to hear that the tissue he removed from under my armpit was the size of a grapefruit.  I had no idea it would be that much.  He wanted me to stay long enough to be sure I was tolerating food well.  I ate both breakfast and lunch at the hospital.  It was interesting to order my meals from a menu like hotel room service. 

We received instructions about emptying the drainage tube from my lymph node site.  The drainage bulb is the size and shape of a hand grenade.  It inflates when the top is removed for draining.  I will be dependent upon others to drain it for me since I can’t manage it with one hand.  I am wearing a special sports bra with Velcro adjustments the doctor ordered for me.  He said it is necessary to keep my skin flap (as he called it) against my body where the cavity is so that it will adhere back to my body.  I tuck the drainage bulb inside my bra to keep it secure. 

We left the hospital about 2 p.m.  The ride home from the hospital is always nicer then the ride to the hospital.  I had a quiet day.  I decided not to take any more pain medication unless absolutely necessary because I don’t like the effects of it.  It makes me nauseated and so loopy.  I will try taking Aleve for any discomfort I have.

August 19, 2004
Today I went to the doctor’s office to have my dressings changed and my drainage tube checked.  My youngest daughter was my chauffeur since I am not allowed to drive yet.  It made both of us nervous that she was driving my car.  She knows how fussy I am about my car.  She actually did fine but naturally I would have rather been driving. 

I was surprised that this little outing left me quite exhausted.  It didn’t help that first I went to the wrong place.  My surgeon has office hours on Monday at Parkridge and the rest of the time he is at Erlanger.  But I was only seeing his nurse, so it didn’t occur to me that she wouldn’t be at Parkridge.  So I ended up over an hour late for my appointment at Erlanger.

Debbie is a kind and compassionate nurse.  As soon as I got in the room, she remarked about my surgery being on Monday and that my results were probably ready.  I wasn’t expecting a report today and wasn’t quite sure I wanted to hear the results yet since it might be bad news.  But she came back with the report.  Out of 13 lymph nodes removed, all of them were clear of cancer.  It was stunning to hear.  I could hardly believe it.  All I could say was Praise the Lord!!!  Which was exactly all that I needed to say.

My drainage site is still draining significantly so it cannot be removed yet.  She told me the total amount of drainage for the day must be less than 30cc before the tube can be removed.  She noticed a slight redness at the surgical site so she gave me a prescription for Cephalexin 500 mg four times a day.  The tape that was put on me in surgery for the dressing has already irritated my skin even though I informed all medical personnel that I am allergic to tape. 

What a relief to have good news! With cancer free lymph nodes, I am staying at Stage II cancer and that is sure better than advancing up the scale.  I couldn’t help thinking I gave up lymph nodes for nothing.  But that isn’t really true.  I gave up lymph nodes because there really wasn’t any other choice.  I couldn’t take the chance that my lymph nodes were cancerous. At this point, I don't know if this news changes anything about my chemotherapy since I did have two nodes from the sentinel node mapping with cancer even though slight. I am not going to even let myself think of there is a possibility of not having chemo.  I don’t want to be disappointed. 

August 21, 2004
A peculiar tinkling started in the back of my upper arm yesterday and is still persisting today.  It feels like the prickling feeling you get when your foot has been asleep and starts waking up.  I don’t like it.  I have been using my right arm just like usual since day one from my surgery.  I am supposed to start doing an arm exercise starting this coming Monday.  Debbie my nurse told me she see many women that don’t exercise their arm and lose their mobility and end up in physical therapy.  I don’t want to jeopardize any use of my right arm since I am so dependent upon it.  I have tried to shift to more usage of my left arm but it seems awkward.  I am glad that I have always carried my shoulder strap purse on my left shoulder so I don’t have to change that habit. 




August 22, 2004
We went to the eleven o’clock service at Brainerd Baptist and sat with our family.  Afterwards, we ate lunch at Shogun and it was a great experience watching the cook doing his fancy dramatic cooking right in front of us.  In the afternoon, I rested. 

Today we are getting our grandkids for the next five days and four nights while our daughter and son-in-law fly to Chicago for a business trip.  We have been looking forward to this.  I am a little apprehensive about my energy level since I am only a week out from surgery.  This surgery seems to have tired me more then the last two procedures.  But it is always good medicine for my spirits to have our two precious grandkids around.  They are good kids and very well behaved.  Not hyper like some and both have very easygoing personalities like their parents.

August 23, 2004
I managed quite an accomplishment today.  After I picked up my grandson from school, we went grocery shopping.  Both grandkids were delighted to ride in a grocery cart that looks like a truck.  They both had steering wheels in the cab.  A minor problem developed every time I stopped in the aisle to reach for an item because they took this opportunity to scramble out into the aisle.  After a few times of this chaos, I used my ‘firm’ grandma voice and told them they needed to stay inside or we would have to go home.  No more problems.  I ended up buying a few impulse items because of the irresistible pleas of my grandson.  The grocery store outing was a bit wearing on my body but we had fun.  It was a major feat to get the groceries all in the house since I am not supposed to be lifting much with my right arm and make sure my ‘starving’ grandkids got their lunch.  But soon everything was done and the kids went down for a nap and so did Grandma. 

August 25, 2004
I went to work today.  I changed my appointment with my oncologist for next Monday.  I wanted to devote the day to work since it has been almost two weeks since I have worked in the office.  It is nice to be back in the routine.

I like driving again even though the seat belt crosses right over my Port-A-Cath.  I will have to contend with this for the next seven months.

I had a long lunch with my buddy.  She’s been caught up on my life through my journal but I wasn’t caught up on hers.    She is struggling with trying to find a job that suits her financial needs and her physical capabilities.  She has been working at a job where she unloads boxes from a truck and it devastates her body with aches and pains.  Her dilemma is finding an office job but one that is fulfilling and enjoyable.  Though this job situation is a major concern in her life, the greater heartache is the pain she still endures over the loss of her wayward husband.  Seeing the anguish in her eyes, I fervently wish I could change things for her.  But I know I can only commit her to the Lord and ask for His provision in her life.

August 26, 2004
We gave our grandkids back to their parents today.  The house seemed empty tonight without the sounds of our little people.  We are glad our daughter and son-in-law arrived back safely from their trip.  It was a Hallmark moment watching our grandkids run to their parents at the airport.  A very heartwarming sight to see our almost two year old granddaughter melted into to her mother’s chest and our four year old grandson climbing all over his Daddy.  The love of a family is one of the most rewarding blessings of life.

I’m always asked how I am doing.  I really am doing well.  My spirits are up but my body is still battered and bruised.  My bruises have deepened in color and it looks like I took a beating.  I am becoming weary of the drainage tube even though I am now able to empty it myself.  I don’t like the numbness of the back of my right arm.  I didn’t realize until I put my deodorant on that my armpit is completely numb.  My book says the numbness is usually permanent.  At least it doesn’t impede the usage of my arm.  It just feels very weird to not feel touch the way I am used to feeling it.  And it is rather depressing to see the three incisions on my right side and the one on my left for the Port-A-Cath.

I was asked how much I feel of all of this stuff.  Most of the time I am not aware of my Port-A-Cath unless the seatbelt rubs on it or it is bumped during a hug.  I don’t feel the actual place where the drainage tube comes out of my body because it is covered with a dressing.  I am looking forward to being free from having to constantly wear a bra to keep the drainage apparatus from hanging loose from my body.  I have had to change my favorite sleeping position because my right side is the side with the drainage tube and surgical site.  My sleep still isn’t what it used to be because I wake up uncomfortable throughout the night.  All of these things are minor inconveniences compared to other things that people suffer.  But these things have changed my life and adjusting is not always easy. 

August 30, 2004
My husband and I went to my oncologist this morning for a consultation concerning the results of my tests and labs.  The MUGA test results indicated my heart is good.  It is always nice to know you have a good heart.  My lymph nodes were clear from my lymph node dissection.  But I still have to contend with the one lymph node that was significantly involved.  Chemotherapy is still on. 

The doctor painted my picture like this; my cure factor at this point is 80% free of cancer.  He asked me if he offered me a plane ride with 80% chance of landing safely, would I want to get onboard?  The answer is obviously no.  Doing chemo takes my percentage up to 92% and because I am young (his words) and in good health otherwise, so I need to be there.  He also discussed my participation in a clinical study.  I would still be receiving the standard chemo treatment of care but it would be administered every two weeks instead of three weeks.  I would not be deprived of any actual treatment or taking any placebo’s.  I would also be taking another drug, Taxol.    There is a possibility of more side effects.  But it could give me a greater survival rate.  One of the advantages of participating in a clinical study is there would be ‘more eyes’ looking at my case now and in the future too.  We have an appointment tomorrow morning to hear more extensively about the clinical treatment, then sleep on it and decide.

The doctor said I’ve already come so far and encouraged me to go the rest of the way.  He is a kind compassionate person.  He held my hand for about five full minutes.  I totally trust his expertise in this area. 

It sounded probable that I will receive my first chemo treatment this week.  I am not thrilled to be beginning this uncharted leg of my journey.  It is like being forced to go to a place you don’t really want to visit.  I have no road map to follow for this part of the journey because every one reacts differently to chemotherapy.  It scares me to think about the many unknown factors I will encounter.  But tomorrow I will hear about the clinical study and decide.  My prayer is for wisdom concerning these treatment options. 

September 1, 2004
Yesterday we listened to a chemo nurse explain the three clinical studies for two hours.  She went over each study thoroughly.  The first clinical trial study immediately intimidated me because it is a hard-hitting chemo approach and occurs every two weeks instead of the standard treatment of every three weeks.  If I give consent to participate in this study, my information will be put in the computer and then based on my particulars, the computer will randomly assign me to one of the three studies.  I will have no choice.  At the end of the information session, my husband asked the nurse what she would choose to do if it was herself or one of her family members.  She hedged for a moment but confided that she would not want to take one of the drugs the study offers.  It causes major bone aching and she apparently has seen the devastation it causes and wants nothing to do with it.  This was significant information to us.  I appreciated her candidness person to person. 

My husband and I were leaning towards the study because of the benefit of having my case closely monitored for now and the future.  But after hearing the three clinical treatments, it almost seems like ‘overkill’ to us.  Participating in this clinical study means I will be battling a low white blood count constantly and several other side effects.  I don’t believe I have a raging case of cancer coursing through my body.  The doctor said at this point after my surgeries, I am 80% cured.  Going the next step with the standard treatment of care will bring my cure percentage to 92%.   I had sixteen lymph nodes removed and only one lymph node was involved 9 millimeters and one was 3 millimeters involved.  That is very slight.  It seems submitting to chemotherapy at all is going to improve my odds.  I am not sure I want to devastate my body more than necessary and it seems the clinical studies would be worse then the standard care treatment.

No matter what my decision will be, I will be having my first chemotherapy treatment next Tuesday, September 7th.  I asked to begin my treatment at the beginning of a week so that by the weekend, I will feel better to do family activities and go to church on Sundays. 

The burden of making this decision weighs heavily upon my shoulders.  I can almost feel it pushing me down.  It is really difficult to know what to do.  The nurse said I should go with my ‘gut’ feeling.  I want to make a wise decision.  I welcome any input anyone has to offer me.  I pray the Lord will give me wisdom and peace about the decision I must make.

September 1, 2004
I went to work today even though I was feeling very low.  I guess it is from the overload of chemotherapy information I have received the last two days.  I know I still am resisting this treatment in my mind.  After all the years of being so adamant about not ever doing chemo, here I am switching lanes and going for it.  Supposedly, chemotherapy has improved but it still has side effects a mile long.

My Mom called me today at the office.  She is very concerned about Hurricane Frances, Category 4 that is headed their way.  My Dad is overloaded with preparations for the anticipation of the hurricane and it is really more than he can handle.  I told my husband tonight that he needs to go down there to help Dad board up the place. 

September 2, 2004
My brother-in-law from Nashville called early this morning and he is going to go to Florida this afternoon with my husband.  That is a relief because I hated to see my husband go alone.  And two more guys helping will get the job done quicker. They left our house about 5:30 p.m.  I have no idea when they will be back.  It will depend upon when the hurricane arrives and when it leaves.  It has been extremely slow so far.

I had a doctor’s appointment with my radiologist.  I told him I would like to know his opinion about a clinical study even though I had already made up my mind.  He said if I had 7nodes out of 16 involved, he would encourage me to go for the study but since I only had one node significantly involved, he thought the standard treatment of care would be sufficient.  He asked me if that helped me any.  I confirmed that was what I was thinking too.  He also took time to read me a passage from Hebrews 12.  I find it incredible to have this type of relationship with a doctor. 

I had an appointment at my surgeon’s office today also.  Finally after 18 days, I had the drainage tube removed.  It was such a relief.  I had to tuck it in my bra 24/7 and the constant pressing and rubbing on my skin gave me sore tender spots.  It had become more miserable to sleep with too.  Tonight will be the first night I don’t have to sleep in a bra!  Oh, the simple pleasures of life!

September 6, 2004
The hurricane came and went.  By the time it reached my parents locale, it had been downgraded to a Category 1. No injury to my parents, our men or damage to their home.  Praise the Lord.  They did have at least eight trees fall.  The lights went out on Sunday morning.  My Mom was in the process of raising her motorized recliner to get out, and the power went out.  She will not be able to sit in her chair until the power is restored.  Hopefully, it won’t be too long. 

My husband arrived home early evening.  I am glad they got back safely because they traveled all day in rain.


September 7, 2004
The dreaded day arrived!  As I was preparing to leave the house, my husband hugged me and said, “We’ll get through this, Honey.”  I was so tense and scared going to the doctor’s office.  Just getting off the elevator in the doctor’s building and smelling a ‘medicine’ smell turns my stomach.  Unexpected tears kept coming to my eyes uninvited when I was in the waiting room.  I managed to have dry eyes by the time I saw the doctor.  I told the doctor that I did not want to participate in the clinical study.  He said that was fine and didn’t seem surprised.  He asked me if I was ready to start my chemo.  I answered no.  He began to make an alternate plan.  I quickly explained that while I was not ready, I would do it today.  (No sense in prolonging the anxiety)  He then understood where I was coming from.  I received the doctor’s orders and went next-door to Parkridge Hospital for outpatient chemo treatment.  (My oncologist office does chemotherapy treatment too, but my insurance requires out patient chemo treatment at the hospital.) 

Standing in the hospital registration line, the elderly gentleman in front of me initiated a conversation.  He showed me a long fresh incision on the side of his neck, explaining this blockage in his artery had been caught during a routine doctor visit.  I replied the Lord had been good to him.  That sparked a revelation of this gentleman’s deep abiding faith.  He began testifying to the grace and healing power of the Lord in his life.  He was so excited in Jesus he was almost jumping in joy!  He blessed me with his testimony of resting in the Lord throughout all his trials.  I took it as a personal word from the Lord.   I thanked this fellow believer for his personal encouragement to me.

Even though I do admit I still dreaded riding the elevator upstairs to the fourth floor, I kept reminding myself to rest in the Lord.  The Outpatient Chemotherapy Room has six recliners and a nurse’s desk in the middle of the room.  The room is full of windows and bright overhead lighting, but the best light of the room is the nurse in charge, Leslie.  I’d been told I would love her and I do.  She is also a sister in Christ and we shared many spiritual conversations during my afternoon stay in the facility.

My blood pressure was 144/94 when Leslie took it the first time. I usually run 120/80 so this was high for me. I was anxious and nervous.  Leslie soon helped me to feel more at ease.  Having the Port-A-Cath made blood work a cinch.  She accessed it without any real discomfort.  She used a 1 ½ Huber needle.  The first bag of fluids she ran was the saline bag.  Then she added Kytril, an anti-nausea medication and then a steroid, Decadron, 20 mg.  The steroid is to tell your body to put up with the drugs that will follow.

Having these harmless drugs first was helpful to my mind since I got used to the procedure before the heavy-duty stuff came.  The first chemical looked like red Kool-Aid.  I watched it snake down the IV tubing towards me.  It inched its way through the tubing down to the floor and then up towards my chair, closer and closer to my porta cath.  It entered my body at 2:30 p.m.  I surrendered in my mind and body to chemotherapy.  Countdown begins: just five more times of this.

While I was receiving all this treatment, I ordered my lunch from the hospital cafeteria menu.  It was unexpected but I enjoyed my meal, which was a tuna salad sandwich, chocolate pudding, and chocolate chip cookie.  I spent at least five hours there.  My husband left for a couple of hours.  I can’t see the sense in anyone wasting so much waiting time with me, unless I am incapacitated.  It is such an inconvenience.  Maybe I could just be dropped off and picked up.

At 5:15p.m. I left the facility feeling remarkably well.  My blood pressure had returned to normal.  I was a little on the tired side probably due to the anti-nausea medicine and the mental fatigue of the day.  I felt so well that we even met up with my husband’s sister and her husband for dinner at one of our favorite restaurants.

I am taking an oral anti-nausea medication every six hours for the first couple of days.  I go back to the hospital tomorrow at 4:30 p.m., which is 24 hours after my chemo finished.  The shot is a slow acting drug to boast my white blood count when it starts dropping.  I will be having constant monitoring of my blood count while I am doing chemotherapy.  It is one of the major side effects.  I also have to be watching for sores in my mouth, fever, changes in bowel habits, shortness of breath, uncontrolled bleeding…. the list goes on.  I read in my cancer book that though I feel good today, I may not feel good tomorrow.  Sometimes it hits you a day or two later.  I will receive my next chemotherapy in three weeks.  (After that treatment, I will likely begin losing my hair.) After every chemo, I will come back for the white blood count boaster shot.  In between the treatments I will see the doctor weekly for blood count labs.  So I will be making several trips to the hospital.  Thankfully, it is less than 5 miles from our house.  Another praise!

Isn’t it good of the Lord that He has surrounded me with so many of his angels?  I am so thankful for the many blessings He has gifted me with.  This burden has become a blessing in countless ways.

September 8, 2004
I have had a good day.  I haven’t felt sick at all.  I even ate lunch out with my daughter, my son-in-law and my grandkids.  Thank you Lord.

September 9, 2004
I spent the morning resting and then went to the office to do payroll.  I felt fine for a couple of hours and then suddenly I felt extremely fatigued and a general feeling of malaise. I tried to stick it out but when I began seriously considering lying on the floor for a few minutes; I knew I needed to go home.  The drive home seemed longer than usual.  It was a relief to walk into our downstairs den and crash on the couch.

September 10, 2004
I thought maybe the anti nausea pills I take every six hours were making me too tired and lethargic so I skipped last night, the morning and noon doses.  Maybe I made it worse for myself.  Between the incapacitating overall feelings of being unwell, I then struggled with no appetite and nausea.  Thoughts of food repelled me and nothing sounded good to eat.   After being bedridden for most of the day, I decided to take my six o’clock anti nausea pill.  Gradually, I began to feel better.  It was a rough day.

September 11, 2004
Now I have two new side effects.  My whole body is in a restless mode, especially my legs.  If someone told me I had to sit still I would have a hard time complying.   I now understand how hyperactive kids feel.  I am also struggling with diarrhea.  But in spite of these new symptoms, I spent an encouraging afternoon at a Women’s Conference with my middle daughter. 

September 12, 2004
I still am struggling with the restlessness feeling.  It was very difficult to sit through the morning service at church.  And I am experiencing heartburn, which I haven’t had for years.

September 13, 2004
I confusedly went to my oncologist office first this morning before going to my chemo nurse Leslie for blood work.  I guess I was a little brain overloaded when the chemotherapy regime was explained to me last week.  It wasn’t any big deal other than I felt stupid.  I eventually ended up at the right place and Leslie took my blood work.  My white blood count level was normal.  My nurse, Leslie is the kind of person that makes your day better just from being around her.

Leslie said my side effects of restlessness were from one of my chemicals and the extreme fatigue on the third day occurred when the mega dose of steroid from my chemo treatment left my system. 

September 20, 2004
My right eye was bothering me last night when I went to bed but I thought a good nights rest would cure it.  But this morning it was worse.  I can barely keep it open and it is sensitive to light.  I hope I just scratched it and this condition isn’t one of the chemo side effects.  It is difficult to function with only one eye.  Thankfully, by mid afternoon my eye began improving.

My second chemo treatment is next Monday, September 27th.  This will be a big bump in the road for me because this second treatment will likely cause my hair to fall out.  I decided on three phases to get me through this hurdle. 

Phase one is today and it began with a haircut.  I got my hair cut shorter so that I won’t be crying over every long lock that falls out.   This is the longest my hair has been since college and I have enjoyed the easy care of wearing it up in fashionable clips.  My daughter’s mother-in-law is a hairdresser and she cut my hair.  My natural curl loves the shorter length and I am happy with my new do.  Too bad I won’t be able to enjoy it for long. 

Phase two is buying a wig before I am bald.  I do not plan on wearing any bandanas, ‘do-rags’ or hats that announce to every passerby I am having chemo.   I am a blender not someone who is comfortable with standing out for any reason.  A hairdresser friend from church who wears beautiful natural looking wigs is going to help me pick one out.  I plan on buying a wig in a shorter style since it will be easier to transition back to my shorter hair when it starts growing back. 

Phase three is when my hair does begin to come out I will have it taken off completely.  I will have control of its departure because I don’t want to be in mourning for several days as it gradually falls out.  Even though I probably will shed a tear or two.

September 21, 2004
Last night my husband stayed with our friend who is losing his battle with cancer while I took his wife out for dinner.  She has been housebound for the last ten days and has taken time off from teaching to care for her husband. We are making more of an effort to be supportive and in closer contact with these friends as they go through the shadow of death.  We‘ve tried to learn from our inadequacies and failures with our other friend who died last June. 

Our friend now lies completely bedridden in a hospital bed in their living room.  He cannot move his legs anymore, he barely eats, he is weak but his spirits are still good.  He is able to communicate fairly well and answers the phone often.  His days and nights are turned around which makes it tiring for his wife.  It tugs at our heart to see both of them going through these hard days.  What can we say to them?  I think we can only listen, pray and be there for whatever they need.

September 22. 2004
Today my middle daughter and I met my hairdresser friend at the wig shop.  I was thankful for her help.  She is very knowledgeable about wigs since she is a hairdresser and she wears them herself on a regular basis.  She also knows my ‘look’ and directed us towards reasonable possibilities.  I wasn’t too comfortable trying on some of the wigs the sales lady brought me.  The color, size or style wasn’t right. I kept thinking I looked like Johnny Cash.  My daughter asked me why Johnny Cash.  I don’t know but that is what I thought.

We found a wig that felt good and was close to my color of hair.  I tested the color in the sunlight and found it acceptable.  Also, my friend liked this wig and thought it had great possibilities for me.  Most importantly, my daughter liked it too.  I bought the wig and then we went to lunch.  No more thinking about the wig today.

September 23, 2004
Combing my hair this morning, I was startled to see lots of wispy hairs falling into the bathroom sink.  Gently I pulled at a few strands of hair.  My fingers produced a substantial return of loose hairs.  It’s begun.  My hair is coming out.  I bought the wig none too soon.  I expected it next week not this week.  I told my husband.  He looked at me compassionately and gave me a hug.  Hot tears flooded my eyes. 

This afternoon I met my hairdresser friend at her shop for a wig trim and style that fits me.  She did a great job on my wig.  I like it as much as I can like a wig.  All my family liked my wig and thinks it looked natural.  I was particularly pleased that it received my grandson’s approval.  I wore the wig from mid afternoon until bedtime.  By then I was weary of the feeling of having something on my head.  It was a relief to take it off. 

Tonight was family night and we all gathered at our house to watch our favorite reality show, Survivor.  My middle daughter thoughtfully had offered to bring a casserole and I provided the salad and bread.  We all enjoyed her delicious chicken spaghetti recipe.  My youngest daughter cleaned up the kitchen, which was a greatly appreciated contribution. 

At bedtime this evening, I found a card marked “Mom” on my nightstand.  I opened it and it was from my oldest daughter and her husband.  Her husband had written me a loving personal note.  Enclosed was money they raised through E-bay to pay for my wig purchase.  Interestingly, the amount was five dollars over the amount I spent on the wig and its styling.  They had no idea of how much the wig would cost. They just gave me what had come in.  The Lord knew and blessed their efforts accordingly.  Their thoughtful and loving generosity touched my heart and I cried like a baby. 
I am so thankful for my sweet loving family and their support.

September 24, 2004
I slept on a satin pillowcase last night in hopes of not loosing more hair during the night.  I checked the pillowcase for evidence of hair loss and was glad to find none this morning.  But as soon as I tried to brush my hair, it began coming out again.  I managed a reasonable style for the day and sprayed it in place.  I would rather wear my own hair a couple of more days.  I hope I can make it through the weekend with my own hair basically intact.

September 25, 2004
I was in bed but couldn’t sleep.  I decided to get up and empty my mind of the thoughts that are cluttering my brain.  I keep thinking of my rapidly thinning hair.  I am conscious of every movement I make in bed, wondering if it is causing my hair to fall out.  I fear waking up in the morning with my pillow covered with loose hair.

Chemotherapy, as explained to me, is designed to attack cancer cells in your body, which are fast growing cells.  Unfortunately, your hair is also a fast growing cell and this is why it falls out.  When your hair begins to fall out, then you know the chemotherapy is working.  It is a consolation for the loss.  I keep reminding myself of this but I still am grieving over my impending baldness.  Losing a head full of hair, even if it wasn’t the most beautiful head of hair, is a significant feminine loss and difficult to imagine.  

I need to take my car ride with the sunroof and windows open and feel the wind blow my hair as soon as possible, one more time.

Funny how I have had to back out of several of my dogmatic statements, like I will never do chemotherapy but now I am doing chemotherapy.  I said I would shave off all of my hair as soon as it starts coming out and not loose it strand by strand.  But now I am backing down on hastily taking that action.  I would like to keep my hair for as many extra days as I can manage.  I also said I wouldn’t wear a bandana but I am already reconsidering.  I don’t think I want to wear my wig around the house twenty-four seven.  Just goes to show you how you must always be flexible and never say never. 

My next chemotherapy treatment is fast approaching.  I reluctantly face it knowing I will be losing ground again health wise when I feel like I have just gotten back to myself.  The last two weeks have been basically normal for me and in fact, I had several days that I felt totally fine. 

My personal inventory of the first treatment is as follows:  constipation for the first day and half, diarrhea for three days, heartburn for one week, nausea and general feeling of unwell two days, extreme restlessness four or five days, decreased appetite, loss of four pounds the first week, extreme leg ache in my right leg before Ivan storm, sensitivity to light and grittiness in my right eye for two days, frequent sleeplessness, and beginning of loss of hair at two and half weeks from first treatment.  No problems with white blood count, sores in mouth, or changes in taste buds. 

My recovery from surgery seems almost complete.  My Port-A-Cath incision is no longer sore and I am barely aware that I have it.  The incision area from my lymph node dissection is completely healed and I can comfortably lie on my right side again.  I am able to reach up and outward with my right arm without any handicap.  My right arm has not given me any complication so far and I make a conscious effort to use my left arm for heavier or strenuous activities.  Surprisingly, I discovered I use my left arm more than I even thought I did.  I bought spray deodorant rather than using my roll on so that I can avoid feeling my numb armpit every day.  The numbness is now a permanent feature in my life but I am not used to it. It freaks me out. 

I have been reminded of a verse and it keeps coming to my mind.  It gives me comfort and courage to face this new strange experience of losing my hair, a God given feature of my femininity.  Even though I am on this side of this trial, I have faith the Lord will see me through it to the other side of it and use it for his glory.

1 Peter 4:12, 13 “Dear friends, do not be surprised at the painful trial you are suffering, as though something strange were happening to you. But rejoice that you participate in the sufferings of Christ, so that you may be overjoyed when his glory is revealed.”

September 27, 2004
Today is treatment day.  Even though I have several volunteer’s who are willing to spend the day with me on chemo day, I have opted for being dropped off and picked up.  It seems too unreasonable to inconvenience another person’s day with such a long wait.

The first step of the morning is at 9:30 a.m. when I go to the hospital as an outpatient, and my chemo nurse Leslie taps into my Port-A-Cath and draws blood for lab work.  Tapping into my Port-A-Cath is also the preparation needed for setting me up for the coming chemotherapy.  It is such a breeze having those multiple vials filled from the cath instead of my arm. 

Second step is going to the doctor’s office, which is in a building adjacent to the hospital.  I enjoy the walk outside in the fresh air.  Waiting in a doctor’s office is usually a lengthy wait but I always have plenty of projects to keep me busy.  The doctor checks my blood work of the morning, making sure my blood count is good and signs me off to my chemo treatment of the day.
Third step is going back to the outpatient chemotherapy room and settle into my own recliner.  Being a creature of habit, I am sure I will always choose the middle chair on the right side of the room.  Leslie cannot always begin things right away because she is also carrying for two other patients in the room. 

The first bag of IV fluids is the saline which runs the entire time and helps flush the lines between chemicals.  The next bag to be hung is the Kytril, which is the anti-nausea medicine.  The Decadron comes next, which is the steroid that is five times a normal dose.  This is to help my body accept the following three chemicals.  It takes about thirty minutes to run each IV bag. 
My chemo started at 1:00 p.m. and finished at 3:30 p.m.

In between that time I ordered ‘hospital room service’ and ate a good lunch.  I have been able to eat lunch because I am not eating it when the chemicals are actually running into my body.  I think that would bother me mentally.
I was finally able to go home at 4:00 p.m.  I fairly well the rest of the evening.

September 28, 2004
The procedure is to go back to the hospital for twenty-four hours after my treatment ended the previous day for a boaster shot for my white blood cell count.  Then next Monday, I will return to have my blood count tested again.

Today is the day that I decided to let my hair go.  I managed to make it through to the weekend.  I only combed it once every morning for a week and sprayed it liberally to keep it in place.  There was no way that I could wash it because I am quite certain it would have fallen out in drastic clumps.

I drove my car over the ridge to my daughter’s home with the sunroof and windows open, letting my hair blow in the breeze, one more time.  Her mother-in-law, who so graciously cut and styled my hair in a shorter version last week, once again graciously, helped me.  She buzzed the remainder of my hair off.  There is no describing the feeling of hearing that buzzing noise coming to remove your crowning glory.  Afterwards, she kindly asked if I would like to see how it looked in a mirror or just put my wig on.  I opted for the wig.  I figured I would rather mourn alone.

Now I look like a bona fide cancer patient.  It is one thing to know you are one, to be medically treated as one but it is one difficult thing on the psychic to look like one.  Yes, I know and have been reminded that being bald and sporting a ‘concentration camp do’ is temporary. But it is several months temporary.  And I miss my hair. 

September 30, 2004
In spite of religiously taking my medication, I woke up feeling unwell on the third day after my treatment.  I spent the next two and a half days feeling bad.  It isn’t like having the flu because there are no body aches.  It isn’t like having food poison because there are no cramping stomach pains.  It is more like being severely seasick or pregnant.  You don’t want to move around much; trying to talk too much gives greater risk of throwing up, and food or thoughts of food is revolting.  Your body feels wasted with zero energy level. 

But the silver lining in my cloud today was the news from our oldest daughter.  The doctor is 90% sure that her little 13-week-old fetus is another little girl.  Such exciting news and my intuition was right on. 

October 1, 2004
Fall is in the air, which prompts an invigorating, positive attitude in me of wanting to get things done.  I woke up today feeling better and was able to do “wedding things” with my soon to be bride in December.  We have been conscientious about steadily working ahead because of the bride’s busy school semester schedule, my chemotherapy schedule and its effects and the Christmas season.  We’ve even been shopping and wrapping Christmas gifts since summer.  Never know what the hustle and bustle of December will be like once it gets here or how I will be feeling by then.

 We were able to accomplish a couple of wedding dos off her list of things to do.  The list is steadily getting checked off.  The wedding plans are shaping up.  The photographer and videographer have our date scheduled on their calendar.  The bridesmaid ensembles and silk bouquets are complete, my wedding apparel is hanging in the closet, the design of the cakes are chosen and waiting for the big day, the cake knife set is engraved, the plans for reception decorations are nearing completion, wedding invitations are almost completely addressed, and the engaged couple is registered.  The main big event things still left to do?  Finish making the silk corsages and boutonnières, complete the reception plan with the caterer, get the wedding dress bustled, make the wedding programs, make a video to be played at the wedding, the bridal portrait sitting, and any other loose ends that crop up.  This is what good days are filled with and I look forward to every one of them.

October 2, 2004
A couple of interesting at home incidents related to my new baldhead occurred yesterday.  The UPS man came with the delivery of the wedding invitations for my daughter’s December 11th wedding.  I didn’t want to miss the doorbell so I hastily made it to the door before he left the ‘sorry we missed you’ slip.  I didn’t bother to put anything on my head and he acted like it was perfectly normal to greet a bald lady of the house.

Another guy came to the door later in the afternoon.  He was driving on of those small refrigerator trucks that either sells meat or ice cream.  This one was meat.  I answered the door with an interesting type of turban on.  His first remark was a compliment about my “hat.”  I said, “This is what you wear when you have chemo.”  Apparently my bluntness totally disrupted his spiel and left him hem hawing around.  His tattooed arms of devilish images half-heartedly pointed to his truck, which advertised his product on the side panel.  I declined saying I wasn’t feeling well enough for steaks.  He apologized profusely and left saying, The Lord Bless You Ma’am.  I am sure I will find people’s reactions interesting from here on out.

October 4, 2004
I feel like I am back.  No noticeable ill effects hampering me from my life other than a couple of wobbly legs.  I am a little weak from my three days out.  I didn't take any nausea medicine at all today.  My appetite is still a little low but I accomplished pretty much a full day.  My white blood count was good today too.

Tonight my youngest daughter read me a devotional from her book, 15 Minute Devotions for Couples by Bob and Emilie Barnes.  The title of the devotional, “Not Yet” sparked her interest and ended up touching both of our hearts.  I will never see a teacup again without thinking of this lesson.

James 1:2-4 Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance.  Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.
“Not Yet”
There was a couple who used to go to England to shop in the beautiful stores.  This was their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.  They both liked antiques and pottery and especially teacups.  One day in this beautiful shop they saw a beautiful teacup.  They said, “May we see that?  We’ve never seen one quite so beautiful.”  As the lady handed it to them, suddenly the teacup spoke.
“You don’t understand,” it said.  “I haven’t always been a teacup.  There was a time when I was red and I was clay.  My master took me and rolled me and patted me over and over and I yelled out, “let me alone.’ But he only smiled, ‘Not yet.’
    “Then I was placed on a spinning wheel,” the teacup said, “and suddenly I was spun around and around. ‘Stop it!  I’m getting dizzy!” I screamed.  But the master only nodded and said, “Not yet.”
    Then he put me in the oven.  I never felt such heat.  I wondered why he wanted to burn me, and I yelled, and I knocked at that door.  I could see him through the opening and I could read his lips as he shook his head, ‘Not yet.”
    Finally the door opened, he put me on the shelf, and I began to cool.  “There, that’s better,” I said.  And he brushed and painted me all over.  The fumes were horrible.  I thought I would gag.  “Stop it, stop it!’ I cried.  He only nodded, ‘Not yet.’
    Then suddenly he put me back into the oven, not like the first one.  This was twice as hot and I knew I would suffocate.  I begged.  I pleaded.  I screamed.  I cried.  All the time I could see him through the opening nodding his head, saying, ‘Not yet.’
“Then I knew there wasn’t any hope.  I would never make it.  I was ready to give up.  But the door opened and he took me out and placed me on the shelf.  One hour later he handed me a mirror and said, ‘Look at you.’  And I did.  I said, “That’s not me; that couldn’t be me.  It’s beautiful.  I’m beautiful.”
    “‘I want you to remember, then,’ he said, “I know it hurt to be rolled and patted, but if I just left you, you’d have dried up.  I know it made you dizzy to spin around on the wheel, but if I had stopped, you would have crumbled.  I know it hurt and it was hot and disagreeable in the oven, but if I hadn’t put you there, you would have cracked.  I know the fumes were bad when I brushed and painted you all over, but if I hadn’t done that, you never would have hardened.  You would not have had any color in your life, and if I hadn’t put you back in that second oven, you wouldn’t survive for very long because the hardness would not have held.  Now you are a finished product.  You are what I had in mind when I first began with you.’”

Lord, thank you for the trials you bring to our life because we know it is for our ultimate good.  Even when we feel like screaming or rebelling, may we always be reminded you are in control and be able to see the greater beauty in the teacup of our life.

October 8, 2004
Being bald has changed my life in more ways than one.  I have added a new routine when I come home.  First thing I always do when I come in the door is I always kick my shoes off because I dislike wearing shoes in the house.  I am a barefoot or slipper girl.  Now besides kicking off my shoes, I have added the new routine of flipping my wig off.  I dislike wearing it in the house if I don’t have to because it is like wearing a hat and I am not a hat girl. 

One day I flipped my wig off and it happened to land on the nearest surface which was the dining room table.  I forgot about it and went on about my business.  Upon re-entering the dining room later, I was shocked to see our cat, Sam lying on my nicely decorated autumn theme dining room table.  The nerve of that cat, I thought.  I indignantly yelled, “Sam!”  I felt very foolish when I realized it was my wig.  So the dining room table isn’t the best place to flip my wig.  I tried roosting it on the two-shelf unit above the commode in our bathroom.  But then I realized as frequently as the lid is left up, I’d hate to retrieve and wear a wig that had landed in the toilet bowl.  I’ve decided the bedpost might be a safer place.

Not having to fix my hair in the morning is a real time saver.  Being bald is also a money saver because I don’t need any hair spray, mousse, shampoo and conditioner in the quantities as before.  Also avoiding looking in the mirror is a new habit I am acquiring.  This morning I forgot and glanced in the mirror, expecting to see my usual morning rooster hair.  I was surprised again by my new look. 

It helps me that my husband has a great attitude about my baldness.  If he had an attitude like he couldn’t wait till it grows back in, I would feel even more miserable.  He rubs my head affectionately and complimented me on my nicely shaped small head.  I was sure he was going to think it was huge because the starkness of the baldness makes it seem big to me. 

My Top Ten List Why Being Bald Ain’t All Bad
    •    My hair isn’t in my way when I am putting on my make up.
  9.  Not having to fix my hair saves time.
  8.  My hair curlers are not cluttering the countertop anymore.
    •    I don’t need to brush stray hairs off my shoulders.
    •    I am saving a fortune on hair spray, shampoo, conditioner and mousse.
    •    I don’t have to blow dry my hair after a shower.
  4.  I don’t have morning hair when I get up in the morning.
       3.  I am not inhaling hair spray on a daily basis.
  2.  Bad hair days are a thing of the past.
    •    I can flip my wig anytime I want to. 

A sense of humor helps me get through this difficult time.  My wig is exceptionally nice and most people don’t realize it is a wig until I mention it.  I am naturally conscious of it being a wig because I feel it sitting on my head like a hat.  That is why I like it off as soon as I get home.  It is true that your heat goes out your head.  Sometimes my head gets very cold and I feel chilled to my bones.  Then I put on a soft chenille hat and warm myself up.  I am less shy about other people seeing me my baldness in my home but I am not thinking about going out in public without my wig.  The other day someone was about to compliment me on my ‘highlights’ and couldn’t believe it was my wig.  So I flipped it off and showed her.  Even my doctor didn’t realize I had lost all of my hair until I told him.  So I am thankful to have an alternative plan that makes me feel as normal as possible when I go out.  I calculated it would be about a year from now before I have a normal head of hair again.  It seems like forever to me.

October 11, 2004
My husband and I went to visit our friend who has terminal cancer and his wife.  He was mostly out of it while we were there.  But he did smile when I showed him my baldhead and pointed out that he had more hair then I do.  Just since we saw him a week ago, his face looked gaunter.  Sadly, he is wasting away before our eyes.

October 12, 2004
Our friend was not responsive this morning so his wife called hospice.  He was moved to a Hospice Unit in the hospital.  We went to visit them.  Our friend was pretty out of it but we had a good visit with his wife.  It is a relief to her to share the responsibility of his care.  She was understandably fearful the last few days because she had difficulty getting him to eat or take his medications.

October 13, 2004
I am going to a Beth Moore Bible study video entitled, A Heart Like His.  It has been exactly what I needed for this time in my life.  Beth Moore has said a couple of things about the trials of cancer that are relevant in my life.  I felt like her comments were directed to me personally.  Tonight we studied how Christ interacted with the multitudes.  Then in Luke 10:1 he interacted with the seventy-two.  Christ also interacted with his twelve disciples but had three disciples’ he allowed to see more of the private life of the Savior than any of the other disciples.  This why we need an inner circle for accountability and a place where we can be transparent.  But in Matthew 26:38-39, Christ interacted with God alone.  These are the times of intensive care when God beckons that we come to him all by ourselves.  It is a place we go when we are overwhelmed or overcome with grief.  It is a place of honesty where we may wrestle with the will of God, like Christ did in the garden.  It is the place of “Further Still.”  It is a place where your two or three cannot go; they must remain close by and they are to pray.  Many times there are no answers but our family and friends can remain close by for whenever they are needed.  Going “Further Still” with the Lord is a place where the most serious matters in our life are settled.  It is a place from which you must emerge changed, with the acceptance of His painful will.  It is a chance to know God’s will.  Remember peace does not equal no tears. 

I loved this study because I could trace my own journey of crying to the Lord after my lymph node cancer diagnosis.  I was very angry with Him for allowing it in my life.  I went to the “Further Still” place with Him and cried out my protestations.  And my family and friends stayed close by, praying for me.  I emerged with an acceptance of my circumstances and a willingness to see how the Lord is going to use this situation in my life. 

October 14, 2004
I talked to our terminally ill friend by telephone today.  His wife held the phone to his ear while I talked.  He responded to several of my comments with a barely audible whispered yes or no.  When I told him I loved him, he responded with a soft whispered answer, “I love you too.”  I think it will be one of my most cherished gifts from him.  It took great effort for him to say those four words.

My hairdresser friend cut some more off my wig today.  I really like it better.  It looks more like the style I was wearing with my natural hair. 

October 16, 2004
Today our son-in-law, daughter and their two kids and my middle daughter headed off for a week in a condo in the Orlando area visiting all the theme parks.  I am disappointed we couldn’t go too but the doctor wouldn’t let me postpone my chemotherapy.  Probably I wouldn’t have had the energy level necessary to keep up.  I am glad they could go, knowing they will have a great time but it will be a long week here without them.  I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing when we said goodbye.  All I could think of was how the van was loaded with the precious cargo of our five loved ones. 

I spent most of the day moping around.  I was also thinking about the ‘empty nest’ that is just around the corner after the wedding of our youngest daughter, December 11th.  When my other daughters got married, I could console myself with the fact that I still daughters left at home.  I enjoy having a resident special friend at home.  Thankfully, she will be living only five miles away.  The adjustment for me will be not having her at home in her room every night and keeping up with her daily activities, like I do now.

I am grateful that we are blessed with having all of our kids close by.  Our daily life is often centered on doing things with our kids and their families.

October 17, 2004
I am still feeling down.  Maybe part of it is because tomorrow is treatment day.  Even though it is not a painful experience, it is hard on me mentally to sit there and allow those chemicals to enter my body.  Now I know to expect a couple of rough days after the second day and I dread that.  Thankfully, I feel basically good and well for two and a half weeks out of the three-week interval between treatments.  I noticed I am tiring more easily than usual. 

October 18, 2004
The dreaded treatment day arrived.  I felt like I dragged myself in there today.  I told my chemo nurse, Leslie how I felt a little down.  She said that is natural with all the chemicals that are in my body.  I guess after I start feeling well on the fifth day after chemo, I think the effects of the chemicals are over.  But they are not.  This is why there is a three-week interval between treatments. 

I found out today that the steroid I am taking with each treatment every three weeks at five times the regular dosage has the potential for giving me ‘moon face’.  I certainly don’t want that.  I am thinking of going back on my Weight Watcher program so that I don’t gain any extra weight and it will actually help me eat healthier.  I eat more vegetables and fruits when I am on my Weight Watcher program.  I also want to begin walking at least three times a week.  My oncologist doesn’t want me dieting to lose weight but he does want me to exercise.  I know I will feel better back on program but without getting excessive about restricting food, just making better choices and exercising again.  Maybe in a couple of days after my ‘chemo crash’ I will begin.

Sometimes it is very depressing to see other cancer patients in the office who look frail and sickly or to hear the stories from other chemo patients while I am having treatment.  Today the 31-year-old colon cancer patient next to me ended up getting very sick.  He has had several side effects from the chemo itself and so has his mother who had breast cancer.  I always wonder if I am looking at my future.  Leslie said if I were going to have significant side effects, I would likely have already been experiencing them.  Hopefully, I will be blessed with few side effects and be able to get through this without complications.

My right hand started slightly swelling last week.  When I told my oncologist this, he told me not to worry about it.  He said to keep it elevated.  That is a little hard to do during the daytime but I do it at night.  I asked him when I should worry about it and he said he would tell me.  OK.  That settles that. 

I drove myself to and from my chemotherapy today without any problem.  I knew I could do it.  I like holding on to my independence.

October 19, 2004
I took advantage of feeling basically well and not incapacitated from the chemotherapy effects and worked in the office today.  From the experience of the past two treatments, I expect the effects to hit me tomorrow.  I usually have a rough time the third and fourth days.

I was also able to go to the hospice unit and visit our friends.  Even though our friend appears totally out of reach, his wife encourages us to speak to him because they believe he can hear what is going around him.  I was glad to tell him what a special friend he is before I said goodbye.  His breaths are regular but spaced between long pauses.  As I kissed his feverish forehead, I hoped he wouldn’t linger much longer. 

October 22, 2004
After two days of languishing in a state of unwell, it is good to feel better.

When my husband came home from work this evening, I suggested we go to the hospital hospice unit to be with our friends.   Unbeknownst to me, he had already made a visit earlier in the afternoon but said he would gladly go again with me.

When we arrived, our friend had just passed away.  His wife motioned us closer to his bedside.  We slipped our arms around each other.  The room was quiet without the sporadic labored breathing of our friend.  “Absent from the body, present with the Lord” were my first words.  We sang a song together, “This world is not my home.”

The home going of a fellow believer has a sweet comfort that is indescribable.

October 23, 2004
Our family is returning home after their week long vacation.  It is nice to think that every minute that goes by today brings them closer and closer.  We can’t wait to see them.



October 24, 2004
Once again, I am roaming the house while it is still dark, creeping around quietly, trying not to disturb the slumbering rhythms of those that are sleeping.  Even after taking two natural sleep aids I awoke completely alert at 5:30 a.m.  Interrupted sleep is one of my more frustrating aspects of this journey. 

October 25, 2004 
Here comes the bride.  The sunny skies were a perfect backdrop for outdoor bridal portrait shots.  Our youngest daughter the bride looked like the beautiful princess she always wanted to be as a little girl.  She attracted approving glances from admiring bystanders and received numerous verbal compliments.  A small private school outing of senior high girls from out of town asked to pose with the princess bride.  A little girl with her daddy stopped in her tracks, awestruck to encounter a real life princess.  I was reminded of how this is when it begins, the childhood yearning to be a princess bride. 

The afternoon of bridal poses ended at our park, a park just a mile from our home.  Our park, where we have many family memories beginning when our firstborn had her first swing on its swing set as a toddler.  Our park, the place of our traditional summertime birthday parties since our daughter’s second birthday.  Our park where we have had family picnics, reunions, and even a Thanksgiving dinner.  Our park that my girls and I walked to as a little outing.  Our park, where the girls delighted in feeding the ducks our leftover stale bread.  Our park, where we rescued an Easter discard, a little yellow duck that became our grand white duck Daisy.  Our park, where we now lap the pond for exercise at a brisk walking pace.  Our park, where our grandchildren are learning the magic of its playground and pond. 

Yes, it is our park and today another memory is added.  I will always remember the visions of my grown up girl twirling round and round in her stunning wedding dress, posing for the photographer, as the essence of her dreams is captured on film.

  I pray the Lord will grant all her hopes and dreams with a long life and countless blessings.  And in my heart, she’ll always be my little piggy tailed girl. 


October 26, 2004 
For our friend recently gone to be with the Lord.  (I was able to read this journal entry during the memorial service.)

Today we pause to reflect on the life of our friend.  Although he will be missed, we are comforted in knowing he is with the Lord, complete with a new body free of all infirmities.

But I will miss seeing his black truck drive up in front of our house and watching him amble down our front stairs in his trademark camouflage pants.  Sometimes he was bearing gifts, a jar of jelly for me in a scrumptious flavor, a set of gloves for my husband, a pen or two from the union or an interesting article he had copied.  He enjoyed my breakfasts, eggs with green peppers and ‘mators’ as he put it, grits and toast. 

His desire to help others impressed us.  After he couldn’t work anymore, he developed a route that included many friends, all of whom were recipients of his giving nature in some aspect.  He was always willing to take on an electrical project and frequently asked what he could do.  I have lights in closets, new styled light switches in my kitchen and bathrooms, indirect lighting over my kitchen table and extra outlets as reminders of his generous service.

My husband could always count on him for various needs or errands and visa versa.  They were buddies and frequently spent time together over a bowl of soup at a Chinese restaurant.  After he became housebound and not able to drive, my husband would pick him up so he could ride along on his work route.  He was always ready to go.

He was a great inspiration to all of us.  He accepted his physical condition, as the sovereign will of God with no bitterness attached.  He kept going until he could go no more. 

Well done, good and faithful servant.
December 4, 2004
One week from today is the wedding of our youngest daughter, our last little bird to fly from our nest.  We have an exciting week ahead with many details coming together for a beautiful celebration of young love.  It will be a wonderful day and I am looking forward to sharing it with Chris and Cindy and our family. 
Cindy has been a real trooper as she has kept up with the never-ending wedding details, shower thank you notes, premarital counseling, school projects and working.  She has one project left and two tests two days before the wedding.  Her honeymoon bags are in the process of being packed.  I marvel at her multitasking capabilities.
I admit to struggling with mixed emotions.  Under normal circumstances it would be a significant struggle for me to deal with the empty nest syndrome just around the corner.  I have thoroughly enjoyed having all of our girls living at home and was blessed to have each one of them until their wedding day.  My daughters are also my friends and it has been nice having a resident friend.  Sometimes I have periods of sinking depression thinking about the upcoming changes.  I am already anticipating how much I will miss spending time with Cindy in her room.  And often times, I feel overwhelmed with the wedding responsibilities, especially since we are doing the reception ourselves.  But dear family and friends are going to help us set up and decorate next Thursday.  After that is done, I think I will relax.
I haven’t done as well physically with my last two treatments.  I have been sick most of the week following chemo.  This week I tried two other medicines and still I have waves of nausea and no appetite.  When I went in this past Tuesday, the day following treatment, I was already dehydrated from vomiting too much, so I had to be given IV fluids.  I am hoping to pick up this weekend and regain my momentum.  In the meantime, I am conscious of trying to rest often.  I need my strength returned for next week.
We had a great Thanksgiving week and my birthday.  I felt good and enjoyed cooking for our family of ten.  We were thankful for surprise happy news at our Thanksgiving table.  Our second daughter, Misty
announced she is expecting.  We are thrilled.  She is feeling a little queasy already and tired.  Now we have two new grandbabies to look forward to next year; a little girl in March and one in July. 
I managed to drag the Christmas decorations out on the weekend and I unenthusiastically labored with this seasonal effort.  It was a matter of doing it whether I felt like it or not, since it would be very difficult to try to decorate for Christmas during the next three weeks.  Chemo was going to knock me out one week, then the wedding week and after the wedding, I likely would feel too tired to tackle Christmas then. 
Thank goodness for the artificial pre-lit tree I bought last year.  It went together in a speedy time.  I unpacked a variety of Christmas decorative knickknacks and spread them around the house.  It always amazes my husband at the end of the season when I recollect all of them and put them on the dining room table for packing.  He can’t believe that many decorations have been dispersed throughout the house.
I received the greatest reward for my tired efforts when my four-year-old grandson came over on Sunday afternoon.  He wasn’t in the door two seconds before he spied the changes.  He excitedly went through each room, finding each new addition and exclaiming over each Christmas decoration treasure.  Yes, it was worth my efforts to see the light in his eyes as he experienced the magic of Christmas. 
Our grandkids helped finish putting the tree ornaments on.  We are a little heavy with the ornaments on the right bottom side but that is what makes our tree special.  It has been decorated with loving hands and we are ready for Christmas.
And we are almost ready for the wedding.  This week will be lived by a list; errands on Monday, my blood work on Monday, work Christmas Party on Monday evening, work on Tuesday, reception food shopping at Sam’s Club on Wednesday, Misty making Grooms cake on Wednesday (praying she will feel well), decorating church auditorium and fellowship hall and preparing food trays on Thursday, rehearsal on Friday and wedding on Saturday.  Whew!  Between two pregnant daughters, one busy bride and one chemo brain mom, it will be quite an accomplishment to pull this do it yourself event off.  Thank heavens for friends!

December 6, 2004
I gave into tears today.  I am now plagued with multi-cold symptoms.  Could I feel any worse?  I haven’t felt this bad all year.  My body is pretty worn out from my rough week post chemo.  Will I be able to rally and get the wedding preparations off the ground?  Will I be able to overcome my raw emotions which aren’t being helped by my fatigue and enjoy these moments? 

December 7, 2004
The lists are made down to the last detail.  All the decorations are organized and ready to go to the church.  We are going to decorate on Thursday, two days before the wedding.  That leaves some room for revisions if there is a snag or two.  It will be such a relief to get the decorating done.  It is an overwhelming task to me.

December 8, 2004
I bought all the reception food today.  I hope I have figured correctly.  We are planning for 200 people.  I bought a little extra for backup.  It is very nerve wracking to me to figure this out since I am not a professional caterer and am trying to do as well as one.  I just hope I guess right.

One of my dear friends offered the use of her extra downstairs refrigerator to keep all the reception food.  What a blessing.

December 9, 2004
It is good my car was loaded last night with all the decorations.  It was pouring rain this morning.  It is a monsoon type rain.  Fortunately, there is an overhang to unload at the church fellowship hall.

My three daughters and five of my dear friends came to help me set up the fellowship hall and the church auditorium.  It was overwhelming to begin dispensing all the needed jobs after the decorations and food were toted in to the fellowship hall.  I hardly knew where to start.  Some of the ladies began ironing tablecloths.  Others began arranging food on the trays to cover and stack in the refrigerator for easy replenishing during the reception.  And still others began arranging tables and chairs in a more attractive set up.  My husband and our dear friend went to our church to borrow brass candelabra’s, lattice work and a round table.  My husband’s trailer hitch broke in the church parking lot but he managed to get the lattice work on top of his truck and the candelabra’s came apart and fit in my car’s back seat.  All this was done in the continued pouring rain. 

Two of my daughter’s beautifully decorated the lattice work with silver bows and ribbons, white lights and tulle.  The bride’s cake table will be center pieced in front of the lattice work.  The bride’s cake is designed to look like gift boxes stacked on top of each other.  Each layer is a different shape and size.  It is all white with accents of silver.

My middle daughter decorated the main food table with a garland of tulled white roses with lights and silver bows.  She used white covered boxes draped with tablecloths and tulle to bring height to the table so all the serving dishes would be displayed more attractively.  The table was accented with clear glass candles sticks garnished with white roses and white candles.  The groom’s cake is going to be the centerpiece of the table.  My middle daughter also labored victoriously over making one of the most beautiful groom’s cakes I have ever seen.  It is chocolate and frosted with a basket weave pattern.  The top of the cake is a golf course with a sand pit.  The golfer figurine is in the sand pit and trying to shoot towards the green.  But his swing missed the ball and it is still in the sand pit with him.  The grass of the green is so realistic.  It is quite a work of art.  I will breathe a sigh of relief when it is safely transported to the church and sitting intact on the table.

The nine of us worked a total of six hours to finish a beautifully decorated fellowship hall and church auditorium.  I almost became overwhelmed after lunch when we went into the church auditorium.  It was decked out with poinsettias and Christmas wreathes.  The auditorium was beautiful if you were planning a Christmas themed wedding.  But my bride did not plan a Christmas wedding.  Her bridesmaids are wearing grey, silver and black and carrying dusty purple long stemmed roses.  As I struggled with feelings of wanting to give up, my wonderful helpers began moving things from the platform and surrounding areas.  The candelabra’s were put in place and the place began taking on the look we desired.  It was quite a feat to get the candles to stand straight but soon even that was accomplished.  The last touch was the brave decision of one of my friends to cut the Christmas wreathes down as they were quite distracting to the wedding theme. 

By the time we finished the rain had finally stopped.  We took a few minutes to sit and admire our work.  The fellowship hall had been transformed into a beautiful soft wedding atmosphere with a touch of princess like magic.  Everything looked perfect.  I can never convey to my friends how much it meant to me to have their help.  I couldn’t have done it without them.


December 11, 2004
Rehearsal went well. One of my friends had volunteered to be the wedding coordinator and her help was invaluable.  She worked so well with the bride.  We practiced through a total of four times.  Everyone seemed to be clear on what to do. 

A dear man from our church who has a true servant’s heart helped my son-in-law and nephew figure out the sound system and set up the system for the video that would be shown during the ceremony as the groom’s sister and the bride’s sister sing a duet.  I don’t know how we would have managed without his help.

Our grandchildren are the most adorable flower girl and ring bearer.  Our grandson is four and a half and declares this is the last time he is going to be a ring bearer.  This is his third wedding and he has tired of wearing a tie and tight black shoes.  Our granddaughter just turned two and loves dressing up like a princess.  They will be a striking pair tomorrow going down the aisle.

The hardest part for me during the rehearsal was the songs.  The groom’s sister was still traveling and did not make it to the rehearsal so our middle daughter sang the song to the video alone.  When her sweet clear voice began singing, I covered my face to hide my tears.  The song is very sentimental and the words go along with different photos of the bride and groom growing up through the years and then coming together as a couple.  My nephew and his wife also are singing a beautiful sentimental song.  I hope I can hold up during the ceremony tomorrow.

After rehearsal, my daughter headed for home with her friend who had arrived from California.  Another friend from high school days came over to our house too.  I was invited to share in their fun also.  Even though everyone was tired and we knew the bride should go to bed early, it seemed no one wanted to end the evening.  Even after the in-town friend had left and the out-of-town friend had fallen asleep, my daughter and I still did not end the evening. 

My husband was still downstairs and I had gone into our bedroom to lie down.  My daughter came into our bedroom and lay down beside me.  We talked through the day.  I had always promised her that I would play with her hair the night before her wedding.  I have been doing that off and on ever since she was a little girl.  How could I ever resist the request, “Mom, would you play with my hair before I go to sleep?”  It has always been a great stress reliever for her, especially during these last few college years. 

As I played with her hair, I couldn’t help feeling sad knowing I would not be performing this task too often in the days to come.  It is very hard to do things for the ‘last’ time. I stroked and tussled her hair until I thought my arm would break but still I would not stop.  I only stopped when she asked me to hug her.  I curled up next to her and hugged her until she was almost asleep.  Then she said, “I am going to go to bed now.”  Good night my sweet daughter.  How I will miss our special times!

December 11, 2004
The long awaited day has arrived.  The bride arrived home from the hairdresser with a beautiful head of curls crowned with a princess tiara.  Her veil will hang beneath her curled up-do. 

The morning went fast and before we knew it, it was time to go to the church for pictures.  I packed the brides lunch.  At her request, I made a peanut butter sandwich with a glass of milk.  It was something she thought would settle well and not make her sick. 

Since we were doing all the pictures before the ceremony, the bride and groom had a private moment in the sanctuary alone.  The bride took the groom’s breath away when he saw her come walking towards him.  Even after they spent several moments together, he was still in a state of wonder when we joined them.  He was overtaken with her beauty.

The last thing I worried about was the candles.  I found out we had loaded the candles with inserts that were only half the size they were supposed to be.  I wouldn’t let the candles be lit for the pictures because I was not sure the inserts would hold out for the service.  I also worried that when the groomsmen lighted the candles they would end up not lighting or be crooked.
(It was a relief to me when I entered the sanctuary at the time of the ceremony to see the candles standing tall and every one light.)

The auditorium was packed with family and friends, sharing the joy of our special occasion.  My husband and I strolled down the aisle, onto the platform and lit our part of the unity candle trio.  I sat down next to my sister, my dependable source of strength for all milestone times. 

The bridesmaids were beautiful coming into the sanctuary.  Two of them my daughters of whom I am well pleased.  My oldest daughter was beautiful with her visually pregnant state.  My middle daughter’s pregnancy is not showing yet.  The ring bearer and flower girl were precious.  Brother held sisters hand coming down the aisle.  When he spotted me, he beamed a huge smile all the way towards me.  They couldn’t have performed more perfectly. 

The groom rolled the aisle runner down to the back of the church.  He returned to the front of the church to await the entrance of his bride.  The church double doors opened to reveal the bride and her father and the sight took my breath away.  As many times as I had seen my daughter in her wedding dress, seeing her coming down the aisle towards her groom made me tear up.  She had a bridal radiance and was transformed into the princess that she always longed to be.  She stopped and gave me a hug and kiss.  I struggled to stay composed.  Precious moments of life.

My husband stood proudly next to his daughter.  And when the question was asked of who gives the bride, he answered her mother and I.  The bride kissed her father and he took his seat next to me.

The ceremony was very touching.  The sister duet was precious; each sister singing for their sibling.  The harmony between the groom’s sister and the bride’s sister was perfect.  The voice of the sister of the bride quivered slightly from emotion but sang the sentimental words with clarity and beauty.  My nephew’s duet with his wife too was perfectly sang and precious. 

It was the minister’s first wedding and he did a wonderful job.  His message was clear and he never stumbled.  The vows were completed and the couple lighted the middle unity candle signifying their new life together.  The kiss was sweet and gentle.  The couple left the auditorium to the new rendition of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”  So like the bride to choose that song. 

The reception went well.  The food and punch was plentiful.  My faithful friends stood by to refill the serving table.  And after the bride and groom left, they all changed into their working clothes to help me clean up.  I am overwhelmed with gratitude towards all those who pitched in and helped. 

Everything came back to our home in surprisingly good order.  The day had come and ended.  The wedding day was perfect.  Thank you Lord for the blessings you bestowed upon us through family and friends.

Before the night was over, the tears came again.  My husband comforted me as I cried.  The house was strangely quiet.  I was keenly aware of the absence of our daughter in our house.  I had been so busy with wedding details that I hadn’t completely dealt with the reality of how things would never be the same.    We grow our children up to grow away.  But it doesn’t mean it is easy when the time comes to let them go.  The tears flowed liberally as I remembered stroking my daughter’s hair just the night before.  But even through my tears and sense of loss, I know I will be able to enjoy the next phase of my daughter’s life.  Helping her set up her home, going out to lunch, getting together like I do with my other married daughters.  It just seems harder this time to let go of a daughter because she is the last one, our baby. 

She left us a note on our pillows.  It was written on notebook paper.  She said she didn’t want to use fancy paper to make it too sentimental.  But it was very sentimental and moved our emotions.  She thanked us for all our love and everything we have done for her.  How we are such wonderful parents.  And thanked us for making her day perfect and how she truly felt like the princess she always wanted to be.  Dreams do come true.

December 18, 2004
Tomorrow the bride and groom return.  It sounds like they have had a great week.  We have talked to them a couple of times while they were in Mexico.  They will open their wedding presents at our house tomorrow evening.  That will be fun.

It has seemed like the longest week of the year to me.  I have struggled with a huge letdown since the wedding.  I realized several times that I don’t know what to think about since I am not thinking about all the wedding details anymore. 

Dealing with the ‘empty nest’ is not going to be easy.  It will be harder after all our daughter’s belongings leave our home and her room is bare.  I have tried to keep busy and not dwell on this but it is difficult.  There are so many reminders.  The first day I found her plaid button down shirt in the grandchildren’s room.  As I returned it to her room, I remembered her wearing it home from the hairdressers so that she wouldn’t get her hair messed up when she changed into her wedding dress.  In her room, I saw the chair was slightly pulled away from her dressing table where the notebook paper and pen were still in place where she wrote us our sentimental note and left it on our pillows.  The wedding dress is hanging in front of her closet and bird seed is still on the floor.  The refrigerator still has her Slim Fast cans and soft drinks.  I was driving in the car and saw the side road that leads to the top of a ridge, where we drove last week as a lark to see the homes that have a wonderful view.  We enjoyed our scenic tour as we were taking a break from being cooped up in our house; her with her schoolwork, me with my endless details of keeping up with life. 

Thankfully, my daughter is returning and living rather close to our home.  We will see her frequently.  It is comforting to remember that. As I missed her, I couldn’t help but think of how the type of moments I’ve had this week compare to those that have had a loved one die.  Our house felt empty this week but my husband and I have each other.  Some of my friends are alone without their mates because of death, divorce or separation.  I feel very sad for them.  How hard it is to cope and continue on.

A week from today is Christmas.  We are nearly ready too.  I am glad that I have been wrapping gifts since last August.  I wouldn’t have made it otherwise. We will be having all of the family over for a Christmas Day brunch and then we will open gifts.  The following week my husband and I will go to spend a few days with my parents in Florida.  I am looking forward to that.

This Monday I will be having my sixth chemo treatment.  I have a new prescription that will hopefully do a better job for me this time.  I hope to be functioning better by the end of the week and enjoy the holiday time with family. 


December 20, 2004
It is never a good feeling when I walk into the hospital chemotherapy room and don’t see the face of my nurse angel, Leslie.  This morning instead I see the face of a very young nurse, who seems nice but I don’t know her or have confidence in her abilities at first sight.  It really sets me back.  And my apprehension only grew when she couldn’t get a blood return from my porta-cath after two tries.  Another nurse assisted her and thankfully they did get a blood return on the third try.  It was rather painful and uncomfortable but at least I endured it to a successful outcome.  My chemotherapy treatment was successfully administered and I even decided to nap my anxieties away. 

I began a new regime of three nausea medicines this time.  The doctor said it would be like having three Dutch boys holding their fingers in the dike.  These medicines would be plugging into three different areas of my brain to control the nausea.  Other than feeling drained from my early morning experience, I felt pretty good this evening.

December 22, 2004
The last two days I have felt perfectly normal.  Today is our anniversary and we were able to go out to eat and celebrate it.  No nausea.  Praise the Lord.

December 24, 2004
A quiet Christmas Eve.  Our daughters are spending time with their other families.  Our turn comes in the morning.  I am still feeling well.

December 25, 2004
I got up early to prepare the brunch for my family of ten.  We are having bacon, eggs flavored with green pepper, tomato and cheese, yellow grits, hash browns, blueberry waffles, muffins and juice.  I enjoy the preparations so much and looking forward to having the family over.

After brunch, we began taking the traditional family pictures in front of the tree.  Then we began opening gifts.  It took quite a while.  And it was a grand time.  In the afternoon, some napped and some played games.  I elected to play games and not miss out on anything.

The family was so glad that I have had an excellent week.  Not even five minutes of feeling sick.  I did have a siege of restlessness from the steroids, but that is easier to cope with then the nausea.  Thank you Lord for the wisdom of the doctor to prescribe a medicine regime for me that worked.

December 30, 2003
We, my husband, my youngest daughter with her new husband and me are headed to Florida to celebrate Christmas with my parents.  I have been looking forward to seeing my folks since I didn’t get to do my annual October visit this year because of my chemotherapy.  My sister and her husband are traveling just two hours ahead of us to Florida. 

December 31, 2003
Instead of feeling like New Years Eve, it felt like Christmas Eve.  This was to be our Christmas night.  As is our tradition, my Dad read the Christmas story which instead of being read from his Bible is now read from the scrolls our youngest daughter fancily wrote for him a couple of years ago.  Then we sang Happy Birthday to Jesus.  And the next words by my Dad were, “Let the festivities begin.”  We spent the whole evening unwrapping gorgeous gifts lovingly wrapped by my Mom.  She spent hours on her wrappings and the gifts were beauty’s to be beheld.  Everyone received gifts lovingly selected for their loved ones.  We always cherish our Christmas time at home with Mom and Dad.

January 2, 2005
My sister, her husband and our daughter and her husband left today since all had to be at work tomorrow. 

January 3, 2005
My husband went to visit his cousins and friends in the Tampa area and I stayed with my parents.  It gave me some enjoyable one-on-one time with my parents for a couple of days.  It is always nice just to be able to focus on being the daughter and not distracted by being a wife or mother.  We all enjoy it.

January 5, 2005
While my parents were napping, I slipped outside to the front porch to sit in a cozy rocker with my book in hand.  I was soon pleasantly distracted by the amazing bird activity in the natural surroundings of the log home.  My father has several bird feeders and a birdbath.  And all locales were busy and humming with great hustle and bustle.  I counted at least three cardinal families.  What a beautiful majestic bird!  I noticed other birds seemed to give the cardinal reverence.  Anytime the cardinal flew onto the bird feeder, the other birds would retreat.   A sparrow was busily enjoying a rambunctious splashing in the birdbath but hastily exited when the cardinal came to call.  How interesting to see the bird kingdom has class recognition.

Personally, as beautiful as I find the bright red cardinal, I am drawn to the plain little brown sparrow.  Ever since Ethel Waters sang the song, His Eye is on the Sparrow, I have been fascinated with the sparrow.  On my birthday, my youngest daughter gave me a china figurine of two sparrows sitting on a base with the nameplate with the engraving, “His Eye Is On The Sparrow” for my birthday.  And it plays the song as well.  One of the sparrows is a ‘mommy’ and one appears to be the ‘baby bird.’  It is an exceptionally special gift as it signifies a sentimental bond between my daughter and me and that she found a gift that has one of my favorite songs.  The song encourages me so because it reminds me that as the Lord has His eye on the sparrow, I know he watches me too.  If a seemingly insignificant little sparrow is important to God, then even more so are we.  We were created in His image and He loves and cares for us through all of life trials and times.

January 6, 2005
Today is our turn to leave my folks.  It was good I had a few extra days with them.  As the years roll by, it is getting harder to leave my parents after each visit, as the years roll by.  One never knows what the future holds and if there will be another opportunity for a visit.  I wish we lived closer so that I could be more of a help to them.  There are so many things that burden me about their living situation.  It would be easier on them physically if they could downsize and move into town in a residence that didn’t require so much maintenance.  Understandably, they love the privacy and independence of living in their log home.  But in the meantime, it is getting harder for my Dad to keep up with everything since he is Mom’s sole caretaker.  I feel helpless about the situation. 

My husband and I had a nice trip back home.  Our first stop was to see the grandkids.  They were really excited to have us back.  I didn’t travel with my wig on and took off my chenille hat pretty soon after I got into the house.  My grandson took a long look at me and declared, “Grandma, your hair is growing back.”  This was news to me since I don’t spend a lot of time in front of the mirror.  Being bald shortens your mirror time considerably.  My daughter and her husband came over to give me a closer look over and agreed.  I have hair growing again.  I was really surprised.  And it is all dark hair so far.

January 9, 2005
As is usual, the day before chemo I begin getting the dread feeling.  It is good I chose to have chemo on Mondays because it gives me a Sunday to refocus and work through getting read y for chemo.  This morning in church two songs in particular touched me.  One was “God is faithful” and I thought of all the ways He has been faithful to me in my life and especially during this cancer journey.  The second song was Because He Lives.  “Because He lives, I can face tomorrow.”  I began singing “Because He lives, I can face chemo” in my mind.  It was a tremendous reminder to me. 

January 10, 2005
Chemo day.  I dragged myself out of the house and made my way to the hospital.  It is so hard to make myself go.  But I kept singing my song.

I was glad to see my nurse, Leslie.  She is always a comfort to me.  I don’t wear my wig to chemo anymore since it is not as comfortable as my chenille hat.  When I took my hat off, Leslie exclaimed that my hair was growing.  I told her I hadn’t noticed that until my grandson told me a few days ago. 

Leslie accessed my port-a-cath but it did not give a blood return this time. (A port-a-cath has a two-fold purpose; to receive an infusion of chemo and to obtain blood for lab work)  I know Leslie knows what she is doing, so something must be wrong with the port-a-cath.  She said I probably would need to have an x-ray.  Since the port-a-cath didn’t give a blood return, she had to take blood out of one of my few good veins in my hand.  And it wouldn’t yield much. 

Next I was off to see the doctor.  I was also concerned about my referral being expired on December 31, 2004.  My oncologist is out of my insurance provider network.  The oncologist office had tried to call my PCP several times to get another referral but hadn’t received a call back.  If my oncologist ordered anything for me without referral and approval by my insurance, then I would likely be totally responsible for the treatment cost.  And it is astronomical.  When I saw the doctor and explained my worries, he said we would postpone chemo for the day.  He didn’t want me worrying about anything else because he said I had enough to worry about. I left the hospital and made my way to the PCP offices.  But first I made a stop at my daughter’s house to spend lunchtime with her and the grand kids.  Always a great ‘pick up my spirits’ stop.  I told my grandson that my nurse said my hair was growing back.  He said, “I told you that Grandma.”

It took only an hour at the PCP office to get my new paperwork.  Then I had the rest of the afternoon to enjoy.

January 11, 2005
I was back to the doctor’s office with my paperwork.  The doctor ordered an x-ray with a dye to see why the blood return of my port-a-cath is not working.  My nurse Leslie accessed it again for the test and this time there was a blood return.  Praise the Lord for the answered prayer of my Dad and me.  We prayed specifically for it to give a blood return today.  I prayed in my car before I went up to the chemotherapy unit.  Leslie and I were very happy and thankful to the Lord.  It was a blessing to have one less unpleasant procedure for me to endure.

I was quite anxious today because I am receiving a new drug called Taxol.  I am supposed to have a total of four treatments with three-week intervals.  I have only heard bad things about Taxol.  The first bad impression came from the nurse that explained the clinical trials to us.  She said she would never do Taxol.  I met another lady during chemo treatment that had Taxol.  She still has neuropathy in her hands and feet.  A lady in my church went through cancer treatment last year and the last two treatments of Taxol caused her to gain forty pounds in two weeks.  Eventually the swelling went down, but it wasn’t overnight.  How depressing is it to think of gaining forty pounds.  I will become a hermit and go nowhere.  Another of set of troubling side effects is a muscle ache like a flu or rheumatoid arthritis, which is treatable by Tylenol or more steroids.

I was monitored very closely after all my premeds were administered.  (Anti nausea, antihistamine and steroid)  Leslie ran the Taxol slow and my blood pressure remained stable and normal.  I was relieved when it was over.  So far, I have not been nauseated and have eaten regular meals.   I am doing the same medicine regime I did last time and it is working well to combat my nausea.  Another praise.

It is expected I will feel more effects the third and fourth day out from treatment.  So we will see.

January 12, 2005
I was able to catch up on the laundry today since I felt pretty good.  No signs of neuropathy of my hands or feet or anything else new.

January 13, 2005
Last night when I went to bed my legs were unusually tired and achy.  I thought it was probably due to the fact that I had been quiet active, doing five loads of laundry and shopping at Walmart.  But I woke up with the same achy legs after a nights rest.  I presume this is the flu-like, arthritic aches side effects of Taxol.  Tylenol seems to ease the pain some but it is a new uncomfortable condition.  I can understand why rheumatoid patients become inactive.  It hurts a lot to move.  I would rather trade these new side effects in and take back the side effects I was used to.

January 15, 2005
For the last two days, I have been hurting all over.  The pain is mostly in my legs, but I am also experiencing stabbing arthritic twinges in my arms, wrists, hip or ankle.  I feel like I am ninety years old.  I am taking eight hour Tylenol for pain.  I go to the doctor for lab work on Monday so if this isn't better by then, I will ask for something stronger for pain.  I feel pretty bad.  I would rather be nauseated then have this pain.  The side effects are described as flu like aches but it feels more like a ferocious case of full-blown arthritis.  No wonder people like my Mom become inactive with rheumatoid arthritis.  When you hurt, you don't feel like moving.

January 16, 2005
The achy pain seems to be subsiding a little.  I was glad that I was able to go to church.

January 17, 2005
I went to the hospital to see the doctor and to have my blood checked since it was a week ago that I had chemo.  My blood work was good.  This last chemo treatment, I did not have the mega costly ‘day after’ shot to boast my white blood count.  Instead I will be having my blood monitored every week until my next chemo treatment.

I told the my doctor about my three days of severe leg pains and he said that next treatment he would give me a prescription that will be more effective then Tylenol.

January 19, 2005
I am depressed.  I spent some time on the computer today looking up the drug Taxol and its sister, Taxotere.  I was told if Taxol proves to be too much for my system, I would be put on Taxotere, a relatively new drug with lesser side effects.  I had been thinking I would prefer to be on this drug until I read about it on a support site.  I was horrified to hear one of its side effects is the loss of fingernails and toenails.  It is depressing to read about all the struggles from side effects due to chemotherapy treatment.  The side effects ranged from complaints of slow hair re-growth, unusual facial hair growth, permanent neuropathy of hands or feet, fluid retention, breast cancer that spreads to the liver, no re-growth of eyelashes, excessive watering of eyes, “chemo burn” rash on hands, to frequent reoccurrences of cancer within months of finishing chemo and radiation treatment. These are just a few of the side effects that jumped out at me. 
I think I am better off not reading this type of material.  It rekindles the fear factor and makes it harder to keep a positive attitude during this journey.  I still struggle with my thoughts of considering chemotherapy more as an enemy then a friend because it doesn’t feel right to allow such hard chemicals to enter your body.  But the medical world tells me cancer cells are hard cells to fight and it takes heavy-duty artillery to knock them out.  Therefore, I must continue on and finish the last three rounds.  I am almost finished. 

Feeling as depressed as I do, I have to remind myself that I usually struggle with winter depression this time of year anyway.  This year the added aspects of recovery from a wedding and a holiday season that were tied closely together, adjusting to the empty nest syndrome, worrying about my husband’s health, worrying about my parents health, fighting cancer, and being bald and feeling ugly makes it much harder to beat the depression factor. 

Truthfully, I have done much better than I ever expected and both my doctor and nurse think so too.  My blood counts have remained stable.  I have had no infections or flu.  I have continued my routine of life pretty well with the exception of the week of chemo and its side effects.  After my fifth treatment, my nausea was conquered with a combination of three anti-nausea drugs. Then I only had to contend with diarrhea, restlessness, hot flashes and a few sleepless nights due to the high dosage of steroids I receive in my pre-meds before chemo infusion.  Fatigue hasn’t been a significant problem where I need naps, yet.  I have much to be thankful for and I am.  This is what I must dwell on.

January 25, 2005 
I was busy doing the laundry most of the day.  Everything was normal until about mid afternoon I noticed my left knee was bothering me.  By the time evening rolled around, I was having trouble walking on it.  It felt very unstable, and was causing me a lot of pain when I put my weight on it.  I managed to keep my commitment to a dear friends baby shower but I had great difficulty making into the house of the hostess and back to my car.  Thankfully, my knee doesn’t hurt once I am off it.
January 26, 2005 
My knee is worse.  I am having a hard time hobbling around the house.  After I am up for a while, it is a little easier then the first initial trip to the bathroom.  But it is slow going.  I am experiencing quite a lot of pain. 

I went to work since all I have to do is sit at a desk.  I felt so bad though that I didn’t bother to wear my wig.  I didn’t feel like coping with it too, so I just wore my chenille hat.  I ended up taking that off since my head got too hot.  Today I just didn’t care about the baldness factor. 

When I went to get lunch, I was sitting in the drive-thru when an unkempt man in a wheel chair rolled up to each of the cars waiting in line and begged for money.  When he reached my car, he addressed me as sir, due to my baldhead I presume.  Amazingly, that did not devastate me. 

This incident just shows me how much I have changed from my initial response concerning going bald.  I was never going to go out without my wig.  I even wondered at first if I really wanted my family to see me bald.  I changed my idea about that really quickly.  I sure wouldn’t want to wear my wig around the house twenty-four seven.  On our trip to Florida, I traveled with my chenille hat rather than my wig.  It is much softer and more comfortable than my wig.  We stopped to eat lunch at Shoney’s and it was the first time I had worn my chenille hat into a restaurant. But soon my head became too hot so I took of my hat.  My husband was surprised since I had always been so adamant about hiding my baldness from the view of others.  I didn’t want people seeing me as cancer patient.  But being out of town gave me a cushion of comfort.  I didn’t know any of these people and wouldn’t see them again so I didn’t really care if they saw me bald. 

My friends too, have seen me bald on several occasions.  I even took my wig off after a fellowship at church last week.  It was a spontaneous moment and I don’t know what possessed me.  I was talking to a soldier that had just come home from a year in Iraq.  I told him my hair was much shorter then his and suddenly just flipped off my wig to show him.  Many people at church remark about how good I look, maybe meaning how I don’t look like I am going through cancer treatment.  Standing there with my baldhead must have brought a dose of reality to a few people, because I became the recipient of several hugs.  Hugs are always nice though for whatever reason. 

January 27, 20005
My knee seems to becoming increasingly worse everyday. I can barely walk. I am considering getting the walker down from the attic.  I worked again today though but came home mid afternoon and made myself rest from that point until bedtime. 

I now have a deeper compassion for people who suffer these types of disabilities.  It is very difficult to be handicapped.  You have to consider every step you take and if you want to make it.  You can’t just walk around liberally because the cost of the effort in pain is too much.  It is very frustrating.  It hinders the quality of daily life with its limitations. 

Going through these last few days reminded me of another time in my life I have suffered physical disability.  It was when I was recovering from a broken back as a result of a head on collision with a drunk driver.  I spent six months encased in a hard plastic shell brace.  At first I couldn’t even manage my bathroom needs by myself.  I was allowed to take the brace off to lie in bed or to shower.  That was a relief.  But if I was walking or sitting about the house, I had to have the brace on.  If I dropped something, I couldn’t stoop to pick it up.  I felt very helpless.  I couldn’t stand at the sink too long to do dishes because my back was so weak.  It was a frustrating time because I saw things I wanted to do but was unable to accomplish them because of the restrictions of my shell brace and my weak back. 

I don’t understand why these things happen to me.  Like why my knee now Lord?  Don’t I have enough issues to deal with?  But He is always faithful to me and I trust Him.  He will bring me through this trial too.  I will be more compassionate to others that suffer because I have felt a little of their pain, and I will understand.  But I do hope and pray this knee situation will pass soon. 

January 28, 2005
We have our grandchildren overnight while their parents go to Pigeon Forge.  They will come back tomorrow night.  It is always a joy to have the grand kids over and they distract me from my worries.  I wish I wasn’t so handicapped with my knee.  It makes it harder to keep up with two little active kids.

January 29, 2005
My knee feels very tight from swelling.  I periodically put ice on it but I don’t know that it is doing any good.

We had an ice storm last night.  All the branches of the trees are encased in ice.  Early afternoon, we took the grand kids out to eat.  The roads were fine and it was good to get out for a little bit.  When we got back, it was naptime for our two-year-old grand daughter and our four-year-old grandson lay on our bed with me to watch a video.  I confess to a little snoozing on the side during the video.  I think having this knee pain is making me more fatigued. 

January 30, 2005
I hobbled into church this morning.  I enjoyed the music but we left the service early because my husband wasn’t feeling well.  It felt depressing to come back home.  Seeing all my undone household tasks emphasizes my present inability to keep up and it is frustrating.  But I am too tired to deal with it.  

This evening I was able to get out of the house.  First we had dinner with my husband’s sister and her husband.  Then we went to our newly weds home to watch a Hallmark movie with them.  It was very enjoyable to be out and be with them in their cozy home.

January 31, 2005
My chemo day, I always dread it.  I am going into this chemo treatment feeling much more fatigued then usual.  My middle daughter took me this morning and she will pick me up.  Her car is in the shop and she needed to run some errands so she will use my car.  She came up to the chemotherapy unit with me while I had my port-a-cath accessed and blood work drawn.  My favorite nurse, Leslie who is a source of encouragement and comfort to me was on duty for which I was thankful.  My prayers for a successful blood return from my port-a-cath were answered.  It worked properly this time much to my relief. It needs to work just two more times.

After my blood work was drawn, I left the hospital chemotherapy unit and my daughter drove me to the doctor’s building next door, which saved me a long walk on my unstable knee.  I am still hobbling. 

I was shocked to see the waiting room completely full with the exception of two seats.  I knew I was in for a long wait.  I brought a book along but was too distracted and crowded to feel like reading.  Instead, I stared at the television across the room, barely catching the audio but mindlessly staring at it anyway.  It ended up being a two and a half hour wait.  I dozed off a couple of times until my bobbing head woke me up. 

Finally, my turn was called.  The doctor was apologetic for the long wait. I told him about my knee and he ordered an x-ray for tomorrow.  He wrote me a prescription for the aches and pain this time.  He gave me my doctor’s orders for chemo and I hobbled my way back to the hospital. 

I didn’t start my chemotherapy until almost two o’clock.  I ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and orange sherbet, from the hospital menu, which settled well.  I haven’t ordered lunch since my fourth treatment because I felt like it had made me more nauseated to try to eat food during treatment.  I read my book but soon felt sleepy-eyed.  I gave in and took a nap.  My nap was interrupted frequently for blood pressure checks but I quickly fell back asleep each time. I felt very tired from the long wait in the doctor’s office.  When I finally woke up my daughter was back and waited almost an hour on me to finish my chemo.  My second infusion of Taxol went well with no negative reactions.  Two down, two to go.

I talked to the patient next to me who was a sweet elderly woman.  Her first cancer experience was breast cancer and she was cancer free for nine years.  She developed cancer in her spine, legs, stomach and now a tumor in her brain.  She has been restricted from driving, she lives alone and her family is small.  Her two sons have never even talked to her about her cancer situation.  Her sister, who lives out of town, doesn’t like talking about it either.  This dear lady doesn’t know what she is going to do after her surgery.  Initially, people in her church were very supportive with cards, calls and offers to help.  But she has been on a long journey and people tend to forget and get preoccupied with their own lives, which is understandable.  She feels alone.  I told her I would lift her up by name in prayer.  Her name is Kathy.

February 1, 2005
The Lord answered my prayer for healing of my knee. When I got out of bed today, I was amazed to be walking almost normal.  My knee is greatly improved and I am so thankful.  It is incredible how wonderful it feels to be able to get around again.  I am being conservative because I know my knee is still rather unstable.  Every now and then I feel something inside shift around or a pain if I turn it the wrong way or walk too fast.  I was able to walk up and down the stairs without using only my right leg to take the step and then dragging the left leg up, while clutching hold of the handrail like the desperate woman afraid of falling I had become. 

I went and had my x-ray done.  It was an easy procedure and I didn’t even have to get undressed because the technician shot the film right through my jeans.  I had a near calamity of almost losing my wig because of lying down on the x-ray table.  I tried to reposition my wig without the aid of a mirror before leaving the x-ray department.  When I looked at myself in my car mirror, I realized I had walked out of the hospital with a very crooked wig perched on my head.  Oh, well.  I didn’t see anyone I knew.

My neighbor complimented me on my great coloring today.  It didn’t occur to me until later that she was probably noticing the steroid flush that causes my cheeks to turn flaming red the day after my chemo treatment. 

I went back to Weight Watchers tonight.  It has been depressing to see the numbers on the scale inching its way back up.  In just three weeks, I gained six pounds.  I believe the problem I am having with my knee is related to weight gain.  That is what prompted me to go to Weight Watchers in 2003.  My knees were bothering me and as soon as I lost the first ten pounds, the knees felt better.  I ended up losing a total of fifty-five pounds until early 2004 when I was hit with the cancer diagnosis.  At that point, I lost my momentum and determination.

At the beginning of my chemotherapy treatment, I was told by my oncologist that I would likely gain weight while I was going through treatment.  It is due to lack of activity because of feelings of unwellness or tiredness, over indulgence of munchies like crackers and starches to settle an upset stomach,  steroids, and fluid retention caused by the drugs.  The drug Taxol that I am now taking causes significant fluid retention, which is why I probably gained six pounds in the last three weeks since my first dose.

Doctors don’t really want you dieting while you are going through chemo because they want you eating properly and unexplained weight loss is a concern since they wouldn’t know if it was related to the cancer situation.  Yesterday my doctor did say it is ok for me to go to Weight Watchers because it is a balanced food plan.  I want to do it because it will give me control over one area of my life.  I will know that I am eating nutritionally even if the numbers don’t go down on the scale until I get off these drugs.  I will focus on drinking more water, eating more fruits and vegetables as a substitute to other unhealthy snack choices.  I won’t be able to exercise until my knee improves but at least I can begin with a healthier food plan. 

February 2, 2005
I stayed up till almost dawn writing because I couldn’t sleep due to steroid induced sleep deprivation.

I feel bad that I have neglected to return the calls of some of my friends that have called me.  I think about it every day but haven’t picked up the phone.  I notice when I am depressed I tend to withdraw and avoid talking.  I don’t like to reveal my present state of mind.  I will try to override this tendency and get with my friends because it would be good for me. 

Today we are going to the matinee show of Riverdance at the Memorial Auditorium.  We saw this great show several years ago.  It was my first outing without my shell brace. I am looking forward to seeing it again.  It will be a great stress reliever and mind release.  I love live performances and music concerts.   Riverdance provides the best of both of those worlds.  The Celtic music and dancing is incredible and you hardly can keep up with all the action of those dancing feet.  I love the heart stirring Celtic tunes. 

February 3, 2005
My knee that felt relatively normal for two days is hurting badly; I barely manage to walk with it.   Either I walked too much yesterday from my car to the River Dance concert and stressed it, or the steroid medication I received as pre-meds to my chemotherapy on Monday gave me the relief and has now worn off.  If the later is true and the steroid dosage affected my knee and gave me the temporary improvement, then I would suspect my problem is arthritis. 

I am experiencing multiple stabling aches in my joints and both legs are continually aching.  This pain makes completing tasks and sleeping unmanageable.



February 7, 2005
The x-ray reports on my knee showed degenerative joint decease which is an arthritic condition.  The doctor doesn’t really want me to seek medical treatment for this condition until I complete my chemotherapy treatment as any additional meds could affect my chemotherapy.  It is probable that the Taxol has aggravated this condition in my knee. 

Meanwhile, I am still hobbling.  This has sure slowed me down.

February 9, 2005
I went with my oldest daughter and granddaughter to her scheduled ultra-sound.  Usually I don’t see what everyone else sees.  But today, the doctor pointed out Emmy’s eyes and suddenly I saw her whole little face, eyes, nose and mouth and the shape of her face.  I was amazed.  I could tell that she looks a lot like her siblings. It was fascinating.  I felt like I had met my next granddaughter.

February 11, 2005
Today was Grandparents Day at our grandson’s pre-school.  He spent the night with us and we had breakfast at school.  His teacher is really into her students.  Even though he did not sing a word of the songs during the program, he did well to go up front.  His teacher said he participates in class and has improved considerably in accomplishing his work. 

Afterwards, we enjoyed lunch with him and he came back to our house to take a nap.  Later in the evening, his parents came over to pick him up.  We sat around the table visiting for a while and then they all left. 

Even though it was still early evening, I decided to relax and got ready for bed.  I was just beginning to watch a television program when the phone rang.  It was our son-in-law.  He said our 33-week pregnant daughter was bleeding and they were on their way to the hospital and could we come get our grandchildren.  I was shocked.  They had just left our house within the hour and everything was fine.  Quickly, though stunned, we left the house and were on our way to the hospital, which is less than ten miles from our home.

Our son-in-law called us two more times before we reached the hospital.  The short wait for us to arrive seemed endless to him.  He wasn’t able to go in with his wife because of the children.  My husband relieved him of the children and I slipped into our daughter’s room.  I tried to hide the fear I was feeling when I saw the fear in her eyes.  I knew the bright red blood I saw on her discarded clothing meant a serious problem. 

My daughter said the best thing she would like me to do would be to go back home with the children.  That would comfort her the most.  We left the hospital in two vehicles, my husband driving their vehicle with the grandchildren in their car seats and me driving my car.  We stopped at their house on the way home to retrieve the essential nighttime belongings for the kids.  All the while, I am feeling like I am going in the wrong direction.  My heart was back at the hospital with my daughter.  I wanted to know what was happening.

I received a call from my daughter’s best friend, who had arrived just as we were leaving.  In the hallway, she overheard the medical staff discussing an immediate cesarean. Now I knew I must go back.  I could not stand to wait it out at home.  My middle daughter and her husband came over to our house to help Grandpa settle the grandkids, although Grandpa said he could do fine all by himself.  The grandchildren were not visibly upset by the sudden happenings.  They were both content to be back at Grandpa and Grandma’s house, which is like their second home. 

Upon arriving back to the hospital, I rushed up to the nurse’s desk to inquire about my daughter.  I didn’t even notice my son-in-law standing in the hallway all suited up in OR greens and mask until he signaled me.  He was waiting to go in with his wife.  We had time for a quick hug and he was off to the OR.

The wait seemed long but actually, everything happened quickly.  The C-section went well.  Our newest granddaughter, Emmy was born at four pounds and six ounces.  As her Daddy described her, she has lots of extra skin and no baby fat. 

The doctor and numerous medical staff have told us that our son-in-law saved his baby’s life and even possibly the life of his wife by taking her directly to the hospital at the first sign of trouble.  We are thankful for his quick action.  The doctor said even thirty minutes would have made a significant difference resulting in worst results.  Our daughter had no problems with her pregnancy.  She had no known risk factors for placenta abruption.  She had 25% placenta separation and at 50 % separation, the baby’s life is rarely saved.  It was a critical time, our daughter hemorrhaged a fourth of her blood volume.  We are so thankful for the preservation of the lives of both mommy and baby.  Praise the Lord.

February 12, 2005
Baby Emmy is already off the respirator and breathing well on her own.  I cried when I saw her.  Such a beautiful little tiny being, how precious is she in His sight and ours too.

February 13, 2005
A little four pound and six ounce life begins.  A one hundred and one year old life ends.  The cycle of life, birth and death. 

My grandma went to be with her Lord and Savior tonight.  I was blessed to be able to sing Amazing Grace with the family via a cell phone as they were gathered around the bedside moments before my Grandma slipped peacefully away.  “Precious memories, how they linger.  How they ever flood my soul.  In the stillness, of the moment, Precious memories, scenes unfold.”

February 15, 2005
We’ve had the grandkids for five days so far.  They’ve gone to see Mommy in the hospital and have seen their new little sister too.  They haven’t cried for their parents at night.  They are quite content here and we lavish lots of love upon them.  I am so thankful that I am able to help this week. 

Tonight our daughter was released from the hospital.  She and her husband came to our home from the hospital.  They took our granddaughter back home with them.  We will miss our little piggy-tailed princess. 

Our grandson was glad to spend another night.  The count tonight is up to seven nights.  He has asked me several times about how many nights he can stay here. 

February 17, 2005
We drove our friend, May from Taiwan to Knoxville, Tennessee and participated in an interesting experience.  We rejoiced with her, as she became a naturalized American citizen in a courtroom ceremony along with two hundred and nine other immigrants from fifty-two countries.  I thought how this was a little like a taste of heaven as I watched the line of people from fifty- two nations filing across the front of the platform to receive their naturalization certificate from the judge.  Someday our brothers and sisters in Christ from all over the world will be united.  The roll call will sound similar with the many nations being represented.  And all of us will be together for one purpose.  We will be citizens of heaven and worshipping our Lord and Savior.  What a day of rejoicing that will be!

February 19, 2005
I took my daughter to the hospital to feed Emmy her bottle-feeding of mommy’s breast milk.  She is doing well with the bottles and may not have to have the tube feedings anymore.  It was a sweet and special time just looking at her.  She is such a little doll.  Her head isn’t even as big as my closed fist.  She has lots of dark hair.  I saw her smile once with her eyes closed.  Beautiful!  You grow girl!

February 21, 2005
Back to chemo today.  Ever since I have started on Taxol, I return to chemo tired. With the other treatments, I have usually regained my strength by the time chemo comes around again.  Or maybe the accumulations of all the treatments are catching up to me.

I have been hobbling around with my knee problem ever since January 25th.  Some days are worse than others.  It is frustrating to have to go a slower pace.  Sometimes the knee pain keeps me awake.  My legs have ached off and on too, which is another sleep interrupter.

My angel nurse, Leslie wasn’t on duty today.  I always dread her absence.  My nurse, Alice accessed my port-a-cath first try.  Praise the Lord.  I had decided after one failed attempt I would have gone home and come back tomorrow when Leslie was back to work.  But no need for that plan. I discovered my nurse Alice is a former pastor’s wife.  Her husband died a few years ago.  She too, had prayed before she began to access my port-a-cath.  Thankfully, both our prayers were answered.

I dozed through most of my treatment.  I was tired from the two and a half hour wait in the doctor’s office before my chemo. My pre-meds before Taxol include a mega dose of steroids, an anti-nausea dose of Kytril and an antihistamine to ward off the possible itching and rash that Taxol sometimes produces.  I think the antihistamine made me groggy.  I slept through the numerous blood pressure monitoring that is done during treatment.  The long walk in the rain to my car woke me up sufficiently to be able to drive home safely.  After I got home, my youngest daughter was there with a gift of beautiful blue and yellow daisies to cheer me up.  Also, orange slices and gummy worms, my favorite candy.

My last chemotherapy treatment is March 14.  Yeah!

February 22, 2005
A 72-degree spring like day!  I am walking almost normal today because of the great effect of one of my pre-meds, the five times stronger then normal dosage of steroids has upon my arthritic knee.  I took advantage of feeling well and dropped my daughter off at the hospital to nurse Emmy and took my grandkids to a park playground.  We fed the ducks, they went up and down the slide, and enjoyed the fresh air.  After we picked up my daughter from the hospital we went out to eat lunch.

This afternoon I went with my middle daughter to her ultra-sound with her husband, and his mother.  We were excitedly waiting to see if the baby was a boy or a girl. Most all of us were thinking it would be a boy.  But surprise, we were wrong.  It’s a girl.  Her name will be Ava Katherine.  I think she will have strawberry blonde hair with ringlet curls like her mommy had.

We celebrated the baby news around the supper table at Cracker Barrel, with the grandpa’s from both sides joining up with us.  After supper, we went to take care of the grandkids at their house so their parents could go to the hospital to feed Emmy.

It was a full day.  I am planning another full day tomorrow.  My middle daughter and I are going to move my oldest daughter’s kitchen stuff to the new house and set it up for her.  Because of her C-section, she is not allowed to lift more than five pounds so she cannot do anything during this move.  It is the only time this week that I will be able to contribute my help in this move.  These two days of feeling well are perfect for getting lots of things done, fun-wise and work-wise.  I expect the usual effects of chemo to hit me the third – fifth day, as it has repeatedly done for all my treatments. 

Emmy is doing so well that she will likely be released from the hospital in a couple of days.  Mommy and baby will come to our home to stay until the move is completed.  It will be more relaxing and quiet here.  Their home surroundings are quite hectic and disorganized now since they are in mid-move.  The other grandchildren will be here with us too.  Daddy will be busy finalizing all the packing up of the rooms.  We will persuade him to come here to sleep too, since he will need good sleep to keep going.  The move will take place this Saturday. 

February 24, 2005
I had two good days of pain free mobility.  Today I am moving slower with pain and am quite exhausted.  But yesterday’s activities were so worth what I am feeling today.  My middle daughter and I successfully packed up my oldest daughter’s kitchen and transported it to the new home.  The kitchen is all set up with kitchen cabinet space to spare.  It was hard work but fun.

Today was a momentous occasion.  Our littlest angel, Emmaline Rose was discharged from the NICU and joined her family.  She is shy of her birth weight of 4 lbs. 6oz by one ounce.  Mommy and teeny tiny baby came to Grandpa and Grandma’s home to stay for the next few days since their home is in total upheaval because of the impending move this weekend.  We are awed by the miracle of Emmy’s precious little life.  Though she is a mega miniature size, her life has already taught spiritual lessons on a gargantuan scale. 

February 26, 2005
One year ago today the word cancer came into my world.  It changed my life in countless ways. Cancer has many burdens; fear of the unknown, fear of the known, the medical procedures, the interruption of normal routine, looking like a cancer patient because of the loss of hair, eye lashes, and eyebrows, physical and emotional fatigue, coping with the after effects of chemo treatments, insomnia, enduring many months of treatment, fighting to maintain normalcy in family life and trying to stay brave.

But it has been more of a blessing than a burden because I chose to dwell on the blessings more than the burdens.  How can I begin to count the many blessings the Lord has brought to me through His people, my family and friends or the brothers and sisters in the Lord that He has provided along the way in the medical world through doctors and nurses, my personal angels?  I am thankful for the privilege of having faithful prayer partners with their loving concern throughout my cancer journey.  The Lord has been faithful and given me peace in the eye of the storm.  My life has continued on a nearly normal routine level.  (How I love a normal routine.)  The good days have outweighed the bad days.  How much I have learned and grown through this journey!  This is where the blessing lies. 


March 12, 2005
Last night was the first night of our churches couples retreat.  We hadn’t planned to go because I have felt so tired lately.  But we decided to drive up in this morning since I felt a little more rested.   Our newly married daughter and her husband rode with us.  We enjoyed the two-hour ride in the car together.  We stopped off at a flea market.  I was content to nap in the car while the others shopped.  We enjoyed a burger for lunch.  We checked into our hotel room where the couple’s retreat was being held and napped for a short time.  We got up in time to meet up with friends for a nice dinner at a fine dining restaurant. 

We were able to attend the Saturday evening session.  I felt like a celebrity from all the warm greetings we received from our church folks.  It is very touching to be told by several individuals that they pray for me every day.  I often times feel very unworthy. 

The weekend proved to be uplifting and actually quite relaxing.  We had a good morning session and then enjoyed eating with other couples for lunch at the Old Mill.  My husband didn’t push me to over exert myself, so I arrived back home not too tired and ready for my last chemo treatment in the morning.


March 14, 2005
My tenth and final chemotherapy treatment today!  This is a day I have been looking forward to for seven and a half months.  I even received a certificate for a course in life I never desired to take.  But these last seven months have taught me many lessons, and though I wouldn’t have willingly chosen this experience, having gone through it now, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. 


My next appointment will be with my radiologist on April 6th to begin the process of my radiation treatments.  I will have 35 treatments.  I have been told radiation treatment is a walk in the park after going through chemo. Its major side effects are fatigue and the risk of skin burn.  I already feel fatigued from these last four chemo treatments.  I have been forced to pace myself and to rest when I feel tired.

March 15, 2005
A good friend of mine called mid morning to see if I could meet her for lunch.  Quickly I mentally contemplated the switch of my day’s plans. “Yes, I’ll meet you,” I enthusiastically replied.  The occasion was a time of celebration that I have finished chemo.  We had a great time.  I feel so good today too.  I am not nauseated and still pumped up on the pre-med’s I received yesterday.  The steroid dosage made walking today completely effortless and normal.  I didn’t even think about my knee until my friend asked me how it was.  Then I realized I hadn’t given my knee a second thought all day. 
After lunch, I spent time with my sister-in-law and my youngest daughter.  Then I met up for some maternity clothes shopping with my middle daughter.  I made it a full day, relishing my overall good feeling.

March 16, 2005
I have been thinking about life.  How long the chemotherapy treatment months have seemed.  But on the other hand, how many things I have learned.  I remember the anger I felt when I was told I had cancer in one lymph node, knowing it would force me to go through chemo, a treatment I considered one of the worst experiences in the world.  I vented loudly to God on my way back to the car from the doctors office.  As my husband drove us home, the first person I called on my cell phone was my sister-in-law, a person I felt comfortable and safe to vent to.  She heard all the ugliness of my soul and didn’t reprimand me.  At home during my long distance phone conversation with my parents, my father reminded me that the Lord knew my diagnosis long before I ever knew it.  It made me realize that He also knew what my reaction was going to be and loved me anyway.  Later when I talked to my own sister, she pleaded with me to not give in or give up and encouraged me to fight.  Reflecting upon her words, I realized I wasn’t even inclined to give in or give up.  No, I was angry for a time but I knew I would deal with it.  I would fight to maintain my life and its normalcy that I love and enjoy.  And so I have.

Within the last year, three friends our age have died of cancer.  It is has been a very sobering experience to say the least.  It broke our hearts to watch two of those friends as their physical bodies succumbed to the raging, wasting effects of cancer and its pain.  But we are comforted to know our friends suffer no more and are with our Lord and Savior. 

I though am happy to be still here and enjoying the life the Lord has given me.  I fully embrace life and its blessings.  My husband and I are reaping the fruits of our labor through our children, their children and their lives.  While I do look forward to going to be with the Lord some day, I love my days and life here.  I am making the best of trials that come my way.  I believe the most important element to any problem is facing it and then giving the Lord the opportunity to use it for His glory. 

I have received many encouraging messages throughout these months.  I have been complimented for my courage, my testimony, and my faith and have even been called a hero.  But I know I am nobody special.  I am just a regular person living a regular life.  Anyone can do what I have done.  It is just a matter of making the choice to surrender to the Lord.  Whatever the burden; cancer, health issues, infirmities, handicaps, depression, loneliness, financial problems, fear, anxiety, anger, grief, bitterness, insecurities, divorce, or death of a family member--all of these burdens can be lightened if we turn them over to the Lord.  He is our strength, our ever-present help in times of trouble.  I never would have known courage except for the fact I faced fear.  I would not have needed to put my faith to practice except for the fact that I faced things beyond my power and control.  I would not have this special testimony except for the fact I handed it over to the Lord and He has given me peace.  These are the things I am thankful for in my life.  The burden became a blessing.

March 18, 2005
Shooting arthritic type pains are attacking my limbs and I feel miserable. I am glad this is the last time I will suffer this side effect of chemotherapy.  But still I feel lousy enough to just lie around and I am not up to trying to accomplish anything. 

The doorbell rang later this afternoon.  My husband came into our bedroom with a long box delivered by FedEx.  Inside were fresh cut tulips and a vase.  Amazingly, the flowers were not in water.  At first we didn’t know whom the flowers were from because we didn’t find a card.  I had a feeling they were from my sister.  She knows how much I love spring and tulips.  When we found the card, my guess was confirmed.  It was my sister.  The card said, “Spring arrives on the 20th and with it hope for new life and beginnings!  You are almost at the end of your long journey!  And, just in time for spring!  Happy Spring!”  What a sweet, thoughtful gift!  It arrived at just the right time to brighten my dismal day. 

March 26, 2005
I spent most of the afternoon preparing for Easter dinner tomorrow. When supper time came, I was too tired and busy from the preparations to think about making another meal.  So my husband and I went to Bojangles.  I warned him that also I felt too tired to bother wearing my wig.  That was not a problem to him, so off we went. 

We ate our chicken dinners in the Bojangles dining room.  One other couple was in there also.  When we were preparing to leave, the man at the other table with his wife asked my husband where he worked.  He recognized him from a downtown building my husband had worked at many years ago.  As the two men were talking, the wife slipped over to my table and sat down.  She immediately began apologizing for her husband’s manner and language in the restaurant.  I didn’t really know what she was referring to since we hadn’t heard anything.  She was relieved to hear that.  Meanwhile, my husband sat down at the other table with her husband. 

The next thirty minutes were interesting.  At some point, I intentionally mentioned just having completed chemo because I knew my appearance must have sparked her curiosity.  I am not bald anymore since my hair has begun to grow again.  But it is still shorter than a man’s crew cut and has the look of an involuntary hairstyle.  Bringing the subject up gave me an opportunity to witness about the way the Lord has worked in my life during treatment.  She was very intrigued and soon began sharing intimate details of her life.  Apparently, both her husband and she had come to the restaurant quite discouraged and frustrated because of family problems.  She urgently asked me to pray for her daughter Felicia and explained why.  She also said she had noticed how my husband and I were talking with each other as we ate and that she could see love between us.  You never know who is watching and taking note of the most ordinary of moments.  Both my husband and I were able to ask each one of them to come to church the next day.  I believe they both left the restaurant encouraged.  My husband and I seldom go to Bojangles and my husband chose to go inside to eat.  I was more inclined to go through the drive-thru.  But there was a divine purpose in us making the choices we made tonight.

It is also funny that I chose to go without my wig tonight.  I have worn it less and less as the months have passed because it is bothersome.  Surprisingly, I have accepted my appearance and don’t mind being seen as I am.  I had recently thought that not wearing my wig might bring me more opportunities for witness.  Just like when I wore my cumbersome plastic shell as I was recovering from a broken back.  That dreadful, ugly shell gave me many opportunities to share what the Lord has done for me because people are very curious.  People either look at you discretely, obviously stare, look and then look quickly away or they outright ask you what happened.  I doubt they expected the answers they received, as they become a captive audience. 

Easter Sunday
I couldn’t help but remember my state of mind and heart last Easter.  Spring is my absolute favorite time of the year.  But I was not able to enjoy the new life beginnings of spring because my heart was darkened by depression.  Fear had a mighty grip on my heart and was strangling the joy out of my life.

But thankfully, this Easter is different. The Easter special the choir sang uplifted my heart.  I am able to rejoice and my heart sings again.  I am praising the Lord for his faithfulness in my life.  He is more precious to me than ever before. 

I was happy to be able to host Easter dinner again this year for our beautiful family of ten, my nephew and his wife.  The dining room table was decked out with a pink tablecloth with Easter egg and daffodil appliqués.  Each place setting was set with our china, china I enjoy and do not hesitate to use often.  Each family brought a dish to share and it was a very relaxed meal.  My husband and I love being surrounded by our family. 

In the evening, we kept our yearly tradition and attended the passion play performed at a local church and it moved our hearts again.  This time was more special because we had our four and a half year old grandson with us.  He was attentive the entire time.  It was a privilege to be able to share this experience with him as the visualization of Christ sufferings for us on the cross and his resurrection were portrayed. 

March 28, 2005
Our newest granddaughter, Emmy went to the doctor today for her first round of shots.  The good news was her weight.  She now weighs 7 lbs. 1 oz.  We are so thankful that she is doing so well.  She is nursing well and stays awake for longer periods of time.  I am much more comfortable holding her. 

March 29, 2005
It has been two weeks since my last chemo treatment.  The side effects are fading, except for the fatigue.  I noticed my knee seems to be improving.  I am not hobbling around like I was.  I wonder if my knee problem was related to the Taxol treatment or was it just a coincidence that the arthritis in my knee happened to flair up right then. 

It will be interesting to see if my peculiar cravings that I have experienced over the last seven months subside since I have finished chemotherapy.  My survival “foods” of orange sherbet push-ups, Cheez Whiz and Ritz crackers, any flavor of sherbet, chocolate milk, grape juice, orange soda, gummi worms, have been unusual maybe not so healthy choices for me but enjoyable. 

April 3, 2005
We have received a special gift of spring.  Our bedroom window has been chosen as a nesting place.  We have a ‘birds eye view’ of the progress as papa and mama bird labor tirelessly in bringing in all necessary materials to make their nest.  It will be a privilege to monitor up close and personal this process of nature, the perfect work of God’s hand.

April 4, 2005
My plan was to go to the grocery store after eating lunch with my youngest daughter.  A phone call from my oldest daughter with the news of the death of a work acquaintance suddenly made going to the grocery store seem too trivial of a task to accomplish.  Instead I took a reflective ride on the ridge.  I hadn’t done that since I got my head shaved last September. 

I opened my sunroof and rolled my car windows down.  The breeze felt good and I realized an advantage of not having much hair.  No hair was blowing in my eyes.  As I drove, I took note of the yellow, purple and white splashes of spring colored trees decorating the scenic drive.  The dogwood trees are beginning to bloom.  Tulips and iris’s lined the sidewalks of many homes.  Spring is a breathing taking picturesque time of the year. 

While I drove, my eyes brimming with tears, I listened repeatedly to one of Sandi Patti’s songs on my CD player and sang it to the Lord as a prayer. 
“Cleanse me Lord, of all my silly sad charades.  How I want to be, all and only yours.  Take away the clutter in my life every day and make me like a child, I pray.
Give me joy.  I love to laugh and cry with you.  You’ve become a friend, with me all the time.  Help me to be patient as I watch and as I pray.  Growing in your love, each day.  Lord, show me the way. 
Fill me Lord. I want your love to overflow, running free thru me, to a lonely world.  Let me share that simple truth that sets people free.  How I want them all to see, how it can be.
When the time comes, I want Him to know me.  When the time comes, I want to be there.  Cause when the time comes, I want to be ready.  When Jesus comes to take me, when my Jesus comes to take me, when Jesus comes to take me home.”

My friend‘s time to go home came today.  Having worked with her many years ago, I know what a loss her sweet life is to her family.  She was a beloved wife, mother and grandmother.  Just last week, my grandson told me about his friend, Emma Kate.  “Emma Kate’s grandma is sicker than you, Grandma.  We are praying for her too.”  I began praying for her also.

I felt a special kinship with her even though I haven’t seen her in years.  I heard of her struggles with health insurance providers and trying to get proper medical treatment, which reminded me of my same struggles last year.  Coincidentally, we had the same primary care physician.  I prayed she too, would be able to receive successful medical treatment and recover.  But Jesus came to take her home today.  I know she was ready even though she would have liked to stay longer with the family that loved and needed her. 
April 6, 2005
I am totally wiped out this morning.  I came home from work early yesterday to rest but I still feel extremely tired.  I also felt apprehensive about the appointment with my radiologist this morning.  I am comfortable with him personally and professionally.  It is just that I feel anxious about starting a new medical treatment.  During the recent months of treatment with chemotherapy, I knew what to expect.  Not that I want to still be going through chemotherapy.  But there is comfort in the familiar and insecurity in the unknown.

The doctor’s nurse, Bobbie gave me paperwork on radiation treatment for me to read and sign.  She explained it to me, point by point.  The side effects are fatigue, skin irritation, shingles, and possible cancer in twenty years.  Interesting that the treatment to cure cancer can actually cause cancer.  The area to be radiated will be permanently marked with India ink.  I will be tattooed.  Could I have a flower design please?  Probably not.

When the doctor came in, he gave me a hug.  I was caught off guard when he asked me how the wedding was.  I almost didn’t know what he was talking about since my mind was on other things.  I was thankful my mind recovered quickly and I answered him without too much hesitation.  I enjoy our conversations because we cover not just the medical but spiritual realms as well.

I asked him why I needed to have radiation for any leftover cancer cells in my breast when the chemotherapy treatment I had was supposed to target fast growing cells, meaning cancer cells.  He said that was a good question.  He quoted the following statistics to me; 
Lumpectomy and no radiation has a 35% chance of reoccurrence cancer.  Mastectomy and no radiation treatment had a 5% chance of reoccurrence.  Lumpectomy and radiation treatment had a 4% chance of reoccurrence. 
In five years the percentages changes from 35% to 40%, 5% to 6%, and 4% to 5%.  Having the radiation means lowering the risk factor for reoccurrence as much as possible. 

Apparently Bobbie told the doctor about my extreme fatigue before he came into my exam room.  He brought up the subject of my fatigue and asked me if I would like to start me radiation treatment in two weeks.  I felt immediate relief.  He wants me to rest for the next two weeks and my next appointment is April 18 for the radiation treatment preparations.

April 7, 2005
I stepped even further out of my comfort zone.  I made an unexpected lunch date with a good friend and since I had left the house without my wig, I went to Applebee’s with my ultra short-cropped hair.   I mean I am talking about the shortest buzz cut possible.  I felt quite conspicuous as I arrived first and walked to our table alone.  When my friend arrived and was looking for me, the hostess asked her if her friend was the one with the short hair.  Well, that is better than bald. 

April 8, 2005
The funeral was today for the lady that died on Monday.  Her son, a pastor conducted the service.  It was touchingly sentimental.  I was impressed by his descriptions of the relationships within their family.  He said their family did everything together.  There was no “guy’s night out” or “girls night out”.  They did everything together, even vacations.  Her empty place in the family is going to be painfully felt.  She had an outstanding rapport with her husband of forty-two years, their two sons, daughter, son-in-law, daughter-in-laws, and grandchildren.  As I listened to her son describe her relationship with the grandchildren, I couldn’t blink the tears away fast enough and they rolled down my cheeks.  Again, I felt a kinship with her. 

She was only fifty-nine years old. 

April 10, 2005
Health problems are stressful and difficult to deal with but often time’s relationships can be equally stressful and just as painful. I realized this afternoon at a birthday celebration gathering how tiring that type of stress can be.  I was uncomfortable seeing two old friends whose illicit relationship broke up a marriage several years ago and hurt dear ones close to me.  They are now married.  This was somewhat their first appearance as a married couple in our group of old friends.  I watched as the couple was greeted over and over by friends of longstanding years.  Everyone was smiling on the outside but I noted uneasiness in several faces.  I am sure that it was as difficult for the couple as it was for the rest of us.  Emotional wounds are deep and many still not healed.  Sadly, it felt like I was in the middle of a soap opera set but this is real life.

April 11, 2005
I kept my appointment with my oncologist this morning.  I didn’t really understand why I had the appointment and went to the office instead of going to the chemotherapy unit for lab work like I used to do. That was wrong.  I was supposed to have had lab work first.  I think it worked out fine in the end though, because the doctor ordered an extra test.  The CA127-129.  It is a diagnostic test for checking for the presence of a tumor.  They want to know my blood levels after chemo because they will continue to check it later and notice if there is a rise in the levels. 

I missed seeing Leslie.  She was off today.  It was a relief to me that the other nurse accessed my port-a-cath without any difficulty. 

I found out this morning that my main oncologist lost his wife to cancer only two weeks ago.  Losing a mate is difficult under any circumstance but to lose one to a disease that you as a doctor specialize in must be extremely difficult. 

April 18, 2005
My husband will be working out of town for the next two or three weeks but coming home on the weekends.  This week will be the easiest for me because I won’t be by myself.  My youngest daughter and her two kittens will be staying with me for four days since her husband is going to be working with my husband.  It will be fun to have her home again.

Today was the day to go back to my radiologist.  How I wanted to have another two weeks delay!  I hesitated when he asked me if I was ready.  I asked him what he thought.  I followed his advice to go ahead and get started. 

It was a long morning.  It helps that the staff is friendly and kind since the situation is trying.  I spent the morning in a simulation room, lying on a three-foot wide treatment table on a pedestal that twists and turns at the flick of a switch, and raises to about five feet off the floor.  My feet were bound together, my right arm positioned above my head in a brace attachment to the table.  I had to hold my free left arm next to my body the entire two hours to prevent it from dangling from the table.  My head was positioned on a small saucer shaped curved support and turned to a side angle.  Three technicians worked over me, measuring and marking my chest and armpit with a pen that looks like a Sharpie.  The markings are to insure the same treatment port will be targeted each time.  The good news for the day was that I am not receiving any permanent tattoos like I read about.  I will try not to let these markings bother me for the next six or seven weeks.  It was important to lie still the entire time as I was measured, mapped, x-rayed, repositioned and CT scanned.  Afterwards, I was complimented for my cooperation.  I try to keep with the program since it might mean I can get done sooner.

After my simulation session, I was given an appointment for Thursday afternoon for my first radiation treatment.  I was warned the first treatment would be longer since they will be using the information gathered today to set up my treatment field.  It is vital to get the treatment field set up correctly.

I was glad to walk out of the hospital and move onto other things.  Like meeting up with two of my daughters at the mall area.  I called them first and offered to pick up my grandson from school and met them for lunch. 

I arrived at the school early.  Children were still playing on the playground so I looked for my grandson as I drove by.  I spotted him about the same time he spotted me.  His face lit up and he excitedly announced, “My grandma is here.”  He was happily surprised; especially since my picking him up was unexpected.

I was first in line for kid pick-up.  My grandson was still beaming when his teacher walked him to my car.  As soon as he was in my car, my grandson couldn’t wait to hand me a special gift he clutched in his closed fist.  His hand, still a bit grimy looking from his playground time, opened to reveal a green jellybean.  “Here Grandma, I brought this for you.” he proudly announced.

I have a thing about green candy.  I do not like green candy.  Not green jellybeans, green gumdrops, green Lifesavers, green gumballs or anything green.  I even scoop around the green of rainbow sherbet.  The taste of green candy reminds me of the smell of cleaning products.  Where I got this idea I do not know.  But this has been a quirk of mine for most of my life. 

In spite of my green candy aversion, without hesitation I took the lone green jellybean offered to me from the palm of my grandson’s hand and popped it into my mouth.  I don’t know where he got the green jellybean.  I don’t know how many other jellybeans he had. I never saw him with any more.  I think he only had two since he told me he ate an orange one before he came outside. What I do know is that green jellybean was the best tasting candy I have had in a long time because it was flavored with the love of a dear grandson wanting to share something good with his grandma.  I thanked him for sharing with me.

Later I thought of the many times God offers us a “green jellybean”.  Perhaps we reject the “green jellybean” because it is not our preference, our choice, our favorite thing, or our plan.  A blessing is missed because we do not view the “green jellybean” as a love offering from our heavenly Father for our ultimate good.  Lord, please help me to accept and appreciate the “green jellybeans” of life.  Help me to keep enjoying all candies that are colored with love, even if they are green...

April 19, 2005
My oldest daughter entered a radio contest a month ago and found out last week that she won front row tickets and backstage passes to Steven Curtis Chapman’s concert at our local arena.  Tonight was concert night.  Her husband graciously allowed me to go in his place because he felt I would enjoy it more.  And enjoy it I did.  It was a very uplifting evening of praise and worship. 

It was also a trip down memory lane.  As Steven Curtis Chapman sang a few of the old songs, I was taken back to other concert days.  My oldest daughter was my primary Christian Contemporary Music concert partner in the nineties.  Over the years, we’ve spent countless hours standing in line to get first or second row concert tickets.  Once we camped out overnight in the cold of winter while snowflakes fell softly to the ground.  Many times you look back in life and wish you had done things differently.  Looking back over the years and the countless concerts I went to with my girls, I wouldn’t change a thing.   It was a great time to share together.  We are forever bonded with our memories of fun and fellowship.   All it takes is a familiar refrain from an old song to bring it all back again, for a moment.

April 20, 2005
Since the weather got warmer, I am not wearing my chenille hats anymore.  I mainly wear my wig only on Sundays now.  The hair growth I have is sufficient enough to give me more guts to go out in public without my wig.  I remember the first time I drove my car without my wig.  I felt totally conspicuous.  Now I feel less and less conspicuous.  The list is growing of all the places I have gone without my wig.  I marvel at how I have changed about this hair issue.  I didn’t want to stand out with my cancer slash chemo look.  I have been trying to figure out if my attitude is healthier, braver or I don’t care anymore because I am just plain worn out.  Maybe it is all of the above.

April 21, 2005
I arrived a few minutes early for my first radiation treatment.  Sitting in the waiting room daydreaming, my attention was suddenly drawn to a patient signing in at the front desk.  She had about the same amount of hair growth that I do.  She approached my seating area and we locked eyes.  We both smiled as we experienced a sense of camaraderie.  She asked me first when my hair start growing back.  We discovered we both finished chemotherapy treatment about the same time.  She is two weeks ahead of me in radiation treatment.  It was encouraging to hear that she hasn’t had any trouble so far.  I learned that she has an arthritic condition in both of her knees since she had Taxol.  It made me thankful that I am struggling with only one knee. 

My name was called.  I was ushered into a new area.  No simulator room this time.  The ominous looking sign on the door warned of radiation exposure.  My feet were bound again.  My right arm was raised and positioned in the brace attachment.  The treatment table elevated to about five feet from the floor.  My bound feet felt like I was hogged tied.  The narrow elevated treatment table reminded me of a type of alter for sacrifice.  Once again, it was vital to lie still.  No moving my head either.  I could only gaze at the ceiling tiles.  Bright overhead lights went off and on.  Laser lines appeared and disappeared.  Hands touched me, repositioning me, making more ink marks on my body.  Voices spoke to me periodically.  I consciously relaxed my body because I kept tensing up.  It was exhausting to try to hold my free arm against my body.  My head became sore from laying in one position on the small round saucer mold support.  I became weary of feeling like a specimen instead of a person.  My body ached from not moving.  It is torturous to me to not be able to scratch an itch and many itches sporadically traveled around my body.  I had to will them out of my mind.  Time stood still.  The arm of the machine moved above and beneath me.  Unfamiliar noises. Was this the radiation treatment?  Did I feel a warm sensation on my skin? Finally it was over.  My body was stiff and sore.  I could barely get off the treatment table.

My daily appointment time will be 3:45 p.m.  I preferred an afternoon time because it will leave my mornings free to enjoy grandkids after a sleepover.  I am scheduled for thirty-two treatments. I have four treatment fields.  One at my lymph nodes removal site, a small site on my back to also target the lymph nodes removal area, one at my lumpectomy site and one for the entire right breast.  I was assured the next treatment times would not be as long as today.

When I got to my car, I was emotionally drained.  It is taxing to submit your mind and will to endure unpleasant things.  This ordeal hadn’t even been as bad as other experiences I have had with medical tests and procedures.  I don’t know why I felt like crying.  But I didn’t have time to cry.  I had to meet up with my daughter and help her do my husbands work route since he was out of town.  After awhile, my depression dissipated and I felt better. 

Late this evening, the area underneath my arm had a sensation of being sunburned.  I didn’t expect any side effect sensations for a couple of weeks, according to what I read.  I hope my skin will not be too sensitive and make this treatment difficult. 

April 22, 2005
I wonder if I will dread 3:45 p.m. every afternoon.  I did today.  My treatment time was only fifteen minutes this time.  Much better.  It is great to get it over and walk out of there.  I am glad it is the weekend and I have two days off.  Next week will be my first full week of five treatments. 

I told the nurses about the sunburn sensation underneath my arm last night.  I asked if that was normal.  They said no.  They checked and did not see any visual evidence of skin irritation.  I don’t know what I was feeling.  They said maybe the nerves in my arm were reacting to being in the same position for so long yesterday.  Maybe.  But it sure felt like sunburn to me.

May 2005
What is radiation treatment like?
It is painless.  I cannot feel anything while being radiated.  Radiation treatment has no chemo side effects like nausea or diarrhea.  It does have a side effect of fatigue.  I constantly feel fatigued.  I am adding more fatigue onto pre-existing fatigue from chemotherapy.  I usually wear out by suppertime.

What is your radiation routine?
I have an appointment for treatment five days a week at 3:45 p.m. and Saturday and Sundays off.  (I look forward to the weekends.)  When I arrive, I go to a dressing room and disrobe from the waist up.  I learned to put my hospital gown on toga style.  (One arm in the sleeve, the other side wrapped around my body)  It saves me from struggling out my right sleeve within seconds of putting the gown on.  I have noticed a slight restriction of mobility in my right arm since my lymph node removal.   

Before every treatment, I sign in on a sheet out of my notebook chart.  It is good to see the list of my signatures growing longer as it means I am getting closer to finishing this final stage of cancer treatment.

I have learned to lie down on the table and position my head in the bowl support without help.  The technician slides a wedge beneath my knees and binds my feet together with a band.  The table begins to elevate and get into position.  The room’s overhead light goes off to do the line ups to the markings on my chest.  A green beam of light from the wall sometimes hits me in the eye.  I assume it is harmless.  When the overhead light goes back on, I am ready for a treatment ‘zap.’  The technician usually says as she leaves the room, “Here we go.”

How much radiation do you receive?
I have four fields that receive radiation treatment.  One under my arm where my lymph nodes were removed, a small one behind my arm, and two on my breast area.  I am uncomfortable with the last treatment field because it seems the longest.  I fight a feeling that they have forgotten and left the zap on too long. 

How long does the treatment take?
A couple of days are different.  Some days I can be in and out in fifteen minutes.  Once a week, I am x-rayed to confirm the fields are still accurate and on target.  Every Tuesday I see the doctor after treatment. 

How many treatments will you receive??
33

May 10, 2005
I have been trying to shake off an overwhelming case of depression the last few days.  I can’t explain why I am depressed.  It seems senseless now when I am almost done with all my cancer treatment. It took me half the day on Saturday to get myself out to do my errands.  Tears seem close to the surface and I am afraid of losing it.

I don’t really even want to write about today but in fairness to accurately charting my journey I must include all parts; the good, bad and the ugly.  During radiation, I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing.  I couldn’t get a grip.  Unfortunately, it was the day I see the doctor.  The tears kept coming.  I didn’t even know exactly why I was crying.  My blood pressure, usually a healthy 120/80 was 150/98. 

I tried to think what was triggering my emotional state and thought of a couple of things.  I have been worrying about my husband and his health issues with his diabetes.  Also, our state is making changes that may affect my health insurance coverage or cause me to lose it completely.  And I am weary of feeling ugly with barely any hair and the weight gain of pounds I worked so hard to get off.  But why couldn’t I control myself until I got out of the building?  I felt like a fool for crying in front of everyone.  I don’t want to be known as the breast cancer basket case. 

Also, today I noticed significant swelling in my right arm.  I don’t think I was crying about that because I felt weepy before my arm swelled.  But having lymph edema show up now is quite upsetting.  It is most likely due to the radiation of the area where my lymph nodes were.  The doctor is scheduling me for massage therapy instruction and lymph edema management at Siskin Rehab.  I may have to wear a constricting sleeve that helps to push the collected lymphatic fluids back out of the arm. I have seen a couple of women wearing a sleeve since I was diagnosised with breast cancer.  It is not attractive and can be quite uncomfortable in the summertime.   One more thing to cope with and discouragingly, a lifetime effort.

Here is how I really feel this minute.  I want my cancer free days back.    I want my lymph nodes back.  I want my thinner body back.  I want my hair back.  I want my easy mobility back.  I want to go back to being like everyone else. 

May 11, 2005
Everyone at the hospital asked me how I was today.   It is kind of them to do so but I find the extra attention embarrassing.  

May 12, 2005
My grandson and I had a great time last night.  We had a pajama party with snacks and watched Milo and Otis together.  Even after the movie, his big brown eyes stayed open until almost midnight.  The last thing he did before he fell asleep was to give me a huge smile.

This morning as I was standing at the sink washing up our breakfast dishes, he said, “Grandma, I love your feet.  I love your legs.  I love your back.  I love your arms.  I love your hands.  I love your lips.  I love your ears.  I love your eyes.  I love your hair.”  And then, “Grandma, I love everything about you.”  The Lord knew how down I have been about myself lately and sent me a message of unconditional love through my grandson. 

May 13, 2005
Today was treatment seventeen.  I am happy to be halfway done.  My skin is holding up really well so far.  My right arm is another story.  I have had a swollen arm for four days.  It is double in size from my left arm.  I read on the Internet that it is good to elevate the arm for 45 minutes at a time, several times a day.  I have tried to do that.  I haven’t gotten the appointment yet for the massage therapy.  It concerns me to have this problem.  It is my dreaded fears come true.  I read about some very serious side effects caused by lymph edema.  This will be a struggle I will have the rest of my life because of my lymph node removal.  It is possible to be symptom free like I have been for the last nine months since my surgery.  Please Lord; let me be symptom free again. 

May 15, 2005
My arm is still swollen.  My son-in-law described it well as a “Popeye” arm. 

Lately I have been thinking of the meaning of the word survivor.  I read that some people begin thinking of themselves as survivors as soon as they receive a cancer diagnosis or begin treatment.  I didn’t.  After I completed chemotherapy, I began to think of myself more as a survivor.  I survived the rigors of the treatment.  I hope to survive the decease too. 

Thinking about the meaning of being a survivor, a word picture pops into my mind of a shaggy bearded man with bedraggled clothing found months later after being shipwrecked on a deserted island.  There is no glamour in being a survivor. The survivor has been reduced to a condition of being emaciated, disheveled, and weakened but most importantly, still lives. 

The definition of survive is to continue to function or manage in spite of some adverse circumstance or hardship, hold up, endure, live through an affliction, adversity, misery.  Going with this definition, I am a survivor.  Since my breast cancer diagnosis and months of treatment, I find myself at times spiritually emaciated, emotionally disheveled, and physically weakened.  But with the Lord’s help, I am still choosing to live each day the best that I can. 

‘Because He lives, I can face tomorrow.  Because He lives, all fear is gone.  Because I know who holds the future, and life is worth the living, just because He lives.’

May 16, 2005
The mysterious rash accompanied by redness that appeared beneath my collarbone on my right side over the weekend is radiation burn.  I had no idea the treatment field went up so high on my chest area.  Radiation treatment for two of my treatment fields was postponed for three days to allow my skin to heal.  This postponement while a momentary relief will back up my treatments further into June.  The skin in the rest of my treatment area is doing well so far. 

The doctor gave me a prescription for a special lotion.  This area not only burns like bad sunburn but itches like poison ivy.  I do not do well with itching.  It is driving me crazy. 

Another call was made concerning my lymph edema therapy since I haven’t heard from Siskin yet.  Hopefully I will hear from them tomorrow. 
May 18, 2005
It was uncomfortable to work on the computer at the office today because my arm was very swollen and aching.  The nurses in the radiation department told me that the delay in getting an appointment for lymphedema therapy is because of my insurance.  The nurses began calling numerous facilities to find one that takes my insurance. Instead of waiting for the results of their calls, I told them I would go home and elevate my arm. 

May 19, 2005
Benchmark Therapy left a message for me to call and make an appointment.  The soonest they can see me is next Tuesday at 5 p.m.  That leaves me the weekend to get along with my swollen arm.  But at least I know that I will be able to have treatment.


May 24, 2005
The good news from my appointment with Benchmark Therapy is that my lymphedema can and will be treated.  This facility just signed a contract with my insurance company on the 15th of this month.  My insurance will pay for a compression sleeve, bandages and 2-4 weeks therapy and instruction.  The therapist thinks it is better to wait until I finish radiation before I begin therapy.  He said my arm won’t blow up overnight and two or three weeks delay won’t make a significant difference.

The condition I have is Secondary Lymphedema that is caused by surgery, trauma, infection or any condition that causes a constant overload of the lymphatic system.  My lymph node removal surgery last year caused the disruption of the lymphatic system and it is no longer able to adequately remove excess fluid and waste from the tissue.  Thus, the arm swells.  Essentially, my right arm now has no immune system.  I have to be religiously diligent to keep my arm clean, without wounds of any kind (cat scratch, burn, insect bite, cuts), apply daily lotion (dry skin can be big problem), and no blood pressure or needle sticks in this arm.

There are four steps for improving this condition:  Skin care, basic exercise, manual lymphatic drainage and compression and bandaging.  Skin care is important to prevent infections.  Basic exercise is to help support the treatment by using the surrounding muscles along with compression to promote increased lymphatic flow.  I will be taught a specialized technique called manual lymphatic drainage that is designed to move fluid out from my damaged lymphatics to healthy ones in other parts of my body.  After manual lymphatic drainage, bandages are used after each treatment to assist lymphatic flow and prevent re-accumulation of fluid in the arm.  A compression sleeve is used for daytime and bandaging for nighttime.  This is to be done on a daily basis.  He said I have to wear a compression sleeve daily and bandage my arm nightly for the rest of my life.  I couldn’t believe he said every day for the rest of my life! 

This seemed the opposite of good news.  This life sentence left me reeling.  I have heard ‘things’ come in threes.  First I have breast cancer, and then I have cancer in my lymph nodes.  And today, I find out that I have to wear a compression sleeve on my predominate arm for the rest of my life.  Hearing that felt as bad as the first two cancer indictments. 

This cancer journey is never ending.  I got through the surgeries.  I got through seven and a half months of chemotherapy knowing it was a temporary state.  I am coping with radiation knowing it is a couple of months and then it will be over.  But now I am told the arm situation will never be over. 

I thought learning manual lymphatic drainage, bandaging and using the compression sleeve was for times my arm was having lymphedema symptoms.  I would use the treatment when needed.  I never thought it would be forever from here on out.  I am devastated.

May 25, 2005
I checked out of life this morning and stayed in bed with my covers up to my neck.  I feel like the wind has been knocked out of my sails, again.  I am like an old dog licking his wounds. I am grieving over my arm. 

The therapist told me yesterday that the radiation treatment has taken out whatever lymph nodes I still had in my arm.  I thought I didn’t have any more lymph nodes since my surgery.  Maybe that is why I haven’t had any lymphedema yet because I still had some functioning lymph nodes left.  Was I stupid not to know this? 

Out of sixteen lymph nodes taken from my arm, only one had cancer.  I have gone through chemotherapy and radiation treatment because of one lymph node.  Not that I wanted to have more lymph nodes affected.  It just seems like so much for one lymph node. 

My parents called to encourage me.  I am thankful I have parents that are faithful to pray for my needs and show me such loving concern.  They reminded me of what I know to be truth, that the Lord doesn’t give us more than we can bear.  (But it is my arm.)  My Dad retold me the story of the man who complained because he had no shoes until he saw a man with no feet.  (But it is my arm.)  Trying to keep this in reasonable perspective, I frequently take myself in my mind to worse case scenarios than lymphedema.  (But it is my arm.)  Later this afternoon, I saw a young woman on Oprah whose boyfriend literally shot her beautiful face off.  (Ok, it is only my arm.)

May 26, 2005
I rejoined the human race again.  My initial shock has worn off and I have been able to think calmly about this new situation.  I have decided I will get a second opinion from the therapist that is well known in town, even if it is an out of pocket expense.  I will also find a support group to hear about the experiences of other breast cancer survivors.  Why should I take the word of one person when it affects my life so drastically?  As prevalent as breast cancer has become, why don’t I see women all over town wearing a compression sleeve?  I have only ever seen two women wearing a compression sleeve. The way I think now is that I will learn the massage therapy, bandaging and using the compression sleeve and do it until the swelling in my arm goes down.  Then try a few days without the sleeve and see how the arm does.





May 27, 2005
I completed my twenty-seventh radiation treatment today.  I am almost done.  My doctor said it was fine to begin lymphedema therapy after my radiation treatment is completed.  This reprieve gives me more time to accept the situation emotionally.

My skin has reddened noticeably in all the areas that have been treated.  Thankfully, not all the areas are itching but the areas that do are driving me slowly to the edge of insanity.  The crease beneath my breast is very red and painfully irritated.  All of the treated skin area has small flat dots and some of them are raised.  I would describe the effects of radiation as being like a having a sunburn and poison ivy at the same time. 

My cousin called me and I am going to learn more about an herb based nutrient program to try to build my body back up from these months of chemo and radiation.  It will help give back my energy and possibly help improve the arthritic condition in my left knee and my right heel spur that coincidentally flared up during my last four chemotherapy treatments of Taxol.  It is worth a try.

I have the next three days off from radiation because of Memorial Day.  Yeah!

June 9, 2005
I just walked into my home with a certificate of completion in hand.  For the second time this year, I have graduated again from a ‘school’ I never chose to attend.  Today was my last radiation treatment.

All of the staff at the cancer center was so supportive and caring.  I have found it to be a bittersweet parting when I have completed each stage of my treatment.  A part of you is so grateful to move on but another part of you lingers with the familiar; Faces you become accustomed to, personalities that appeal to you, the caring focus that is directed upon your condition, the place you fit in even though you would rather not be there. 

When I pulled into my special parking place for the last time, which is personalized by ‘cancer parking only’ on the curb, I thought of how comfortably accustomed I have become with this world. Likewise, how ordinary the act of walking through the double doors with the yellow radiation warning sign on my way to treatment became.  My initial feelings of repulsion and rejection of my cancer and subsequent treatments last year has been replaced by a peaceful acceptance of it.  Not that I am overjoyed about experiencing it but I have learned to embrace the lessons and blessings of it.

I was told radiation treatment would be a walk in the park after chemotherapy.  Having completed radiation treatment, I would not say that unless you are referring to a walk in a scary, dark park.  Radiation treatment is not easy.  It is an event to deal with not every three weeks like chemo but daily.  Your treatment zones are marked with colorful markers and reapplied whenever needed.  It is unnatural to submit to lying on a table and being ‘zapped’ with radiation.  Soon your skin begins to show the signs of the treatment with redness, intense itching and burning.  Wearing clothing on your treated areas becomes an added burden.  The altered condition of your treated areas will take several months to return to a normal state.  Fatigue is touted as the number one radiation side effect and it affects not only your physical being but your emotional being as well. 

This journey has been long but doable. I am not a good traveler and would never choose to travel alone.  I especially appreciate the company and support of my devoted family, friends, and my Lord on this particular journey.   

Next week I begin another phase of this journey.  My lymphedema therapy begins at 8:30 a.m. every morning and will continue for the next few weeks.  I am actually looking forward to proceeding ahead with therapy so that I can learn how to take care of my arm.  I have accepted this permanent side effect of my treatments and though I may have difficult moments of adjustment, I know that I can do this too.

Special note:
Our local television newswoman, Mary Ellen died this morning.  I felt a special kinship to her because she battled breast cancer a few years ago and a reoccurrence this past year.  She was only forty-five years old. 

Why breast cancer takes some of us and leaves others to survive is incomprehensible.  It is challenging not to wonder if reoccurrence will be part of my future too.  But I can only live today.  And because He lives, I can face tomorrow.

2 Corinthians 4:18 While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal: but the things which are not seen are eternal.

June 13, 2005
My lymphedema therapy started this morning.  The lymphatic system in my right arm is permanently impaired because of the Axillary Lymph Node Dissection and radiation treatment. Since my lymph node dissection surgery last August, I haven’t had any swelling in my arm. In all likelihood, my recent radiation treatment wiped out any remaining function of my lymphatic system. 

The therapy treatment is designed to manually push the edema out of my arm that is primarily protein and highly susceptible to bacteria which leads to serious infection. My therapist began by massaging the lymphatic quadrants throughout my body for forty-five minutes.   This is to open up the pathways of the entire lymphatic system so that it can receive the excess fluid that we want to push out of my arm.  The goal is to get the body’s functioning lymphatic system to take over for my arms non-functioning lymphatic system.  After the massage therapy, the next step is to clean my arm thoroughly.  My arm is then liberally coated with lotion, which is not rubbed into my skin and a thin knit sleeve goes on top of the lotion.  The wrapping of my arm in layers of bandaging begins with my fingers, hand and continues up the entire length of my right arm. 

I did not envision leaving the facility in the condition that I left in, looking like I have a mummy arm.  I can hardly move my arm because it is so cumbersome and awkward.  This getup rig I have on my arm now is the ‘nighttime’ wear I am being taught to apply every night for the rest of my life.  As soon as my swelling goes down, I will be fitted for a ‘daytime’ compression sleeve garment, which will give me more mobility.  My arm will either be in a sleeve for daytime or wraps for nighttime.  It seems my arm will not likely be bare anymore. 

I went to baby sit my two older grandchildren while my daughter took the baby to the doctor for her well visit check up and shots.  My grandson’s face lit up with a big smile as soon as he saw me come in their front door. Then his eyes traveled to my mummy wrapped arm and his happy face transformed into a face of great concern.   Not wanting him to be alarmed, I quickly assured him that my arm was not hurting and that all the ‘bandages’ were to help me.  Deep in thought, he stared a couple more moments, then leaned towards my arm and gave it a kiss, a loving gift from my own little angel.

June 14, 2005
For today, I convinced my therapist not to wrap my fingers.  I explained how my fingers on my right hand have always been bigger than the fingers on my left hand.  I remember when I ordered my high school class ring there was a size and a half difference between my left and right hand.  Probably he really isn’t too convinced but I walked out of the facility without wrapped fingers.  Enjoying the freedom of not having encumbered fingers helps me cope better with the rest of the mummy wrap. I fervently pray for no swelling of my fingers today.

June 15, 2005
In three days I have spent many hours with my therapist because each session is about an hour and a half long.  I am learning exercises, massage therapy and how to wrap my arm.  Even though he is going slow and didn’t start teaching me the wrapping technique until today, I am overwhelmed. 

The reality of the permanency of this condition is sinking in.  It is overwhelming to think that I am going into a phase that will not be over in seven months like chemo or seven weeks like radiation.  Lymphedema is a decease that requires life changing constant daily care management.  My cancer treatments have given me a lifelong side effect.  I asked my husband, “Why did I do the radiation?”  He said so I wouldn’t have cancer again down the road.  Oh yeah, now I remember.

I am not handling any of this well today.  My eyes have filled with tears all day.  Today the spiritual blessing I usually feel from this burden has been replaced with a consuming feeling of loss.  My raw emotions alternate between being sad and mad.  Truthfully, if I were a curser, right now I would be cussing!  I hate all this stuff.  The limitations caused by these wrappings affect everything from blowing my nose, washing my hands, taking care of my toilet needs, eating, typing at the computer, etc, etc, and etc.   to performing the simplest of tasks.  My right hand has always handled the performance of simple daily tasks because it is my predominate hand.   

Going places today, I felt like such a pitiful creature with my unnaturally short hair, weight gain, hobbling gait and now a mummy wrapped arm.  Contrary to the words of a song, “I feel pretty, oh so pretty.”  “I feel ugly, oh so ugly” or “I feel helpless, oh so helpless.”

June 16, 2005
After this morning’s therapy, I met up with two close friends for breakfast.  The Lord used these friends to bolster my spirits.  We all enjoyed a good chuckle as I related my irresponsible behavior of yesterday.  I told them how I left the office in frustration mid afternoon after battling the keyboard with my bulky wrapped mummy hand for a couple of hours.   I popped a CD into my cars CD player of an artist I hadn’t listened to for months because of the public shambles of his personal life.  (Ok, it was a Michael Jackson CD)  I cranked the volume up, put my pedal to the medal and roared off to a mall on the other side of town. A bit of my wild child side appeared for a few moments and then resurfaced to allow my sensibility to return. But it felt good.  After I aired my head a little, I was able to come back to the office to retackle the challenges at the computer. 

June 17, 2005
My day began with tears and ended in laughter. 

I left my early morning therapy session with my fingers, hand and arm tightly bound in the bandage wraps.  I felt overwhelmed again, thinking of my future of constantly contending with this.  I arrived home in tears.  My husband tenderly hugged me expressing his sympathy for my situation.

ASAP I wiped my tears away and I rejoined life.  I took off for an afternoon outing with our sweet houseguest.  We visited my youngest daughter at work, met up with my other two daughters and grandkids, sat poolside as they swam, ate a mid-afternoon lunch, shopped for groceries and miscellaneous, and then hurried home to make three tostado casseroles and a mega size salad for twenty-one family members coming for supper.  It was a comfortable summer night with a cool breeze and we visited outside until dark.  It was a full and enjoyable day.  



June 19, 2005
I would never expect to be taking my husband to the emergency room on Father’s Day.  He didn’t tell me until we were almost to church that he had been experiencing chest pressure since three a.m.  I turned the car around and headed straight back home.  He went to lie down for a while. 

My nerves were already on edge trying to cope with wrapping my arm for the first time.  Now I felt an edge of panic building inside over concern for my husband.  Was it his heart?  I looked up chest pressure symptoms online and found it could be anxiety, panic disorder, heart or even gallbladder. 

Our girls had planned a Father’s Day dinner at the home of our oldest daughter.  Although my husband wasn’t up to it, he went anyway.  He lay on the couch while we ate.  He slept for a while and woke up mid afternoon feeling a little bit better.  He interacted with the grandchildren.  My son-in-law related how a man from our church had experienced much the same thing but didn’t seek medical attention for over a day and then found out he had had a heart attack.  We returned home shortly and called our primary care physician.  He questioned why we had waited so long to seek medical help.  He instructed my husband to go immediately to the emergency room. 

Arriving at the emergency room with heart attack symptoms gets you attention faster than other complaints.  My husband was soon being treated according to chest complaint protocol.  He has several of the heart attack risk factors; his age, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and diabetes. His EKG was normal and so was the lab work checking his heart enzymes.  I was relieved that he was admitted overnight to monitor him as a precaution.  After seeing him settled into his hospital room around midnight, I returned home exhausted and slept soundly.

June 20, 2005
I kept my early morning therapy session and returned to the hospital.  My husband spent three hours doing a nuclear stress test.  We spent all day waiting for the results.  I cannot remember the last time I spent a day doing absolutely nothing but sitting around.  I was quite relaxed in a recliner and dozed off periodically.  Around eight o’clock in the evening, my husband was informed his test results were good and he was discharged from the hospital.

 I am thankful for the timing of all of this.  Our medical insurance, which is a state supported program, is due to change July 6th.  Over 200, 000 enrollees statewide will be dropped.  Even though we pay a monthly premium, we do not know if we will be able to keep our policy.  It is a disconcerting situation to face because our medical history now makes us essentially uninsurable.  I have been concerned about the health of my husband’s heart because he has a family history of heart attacks.  It is comforting to know that at this time, his heart is fine, as well as the tests can tell.  Something else is causing his symptoms, but it is a relief to know it is not his heart.  He will have a follow up visit with his PCP next week to pursue other tests. 

June 22, 2005
Not a restful night.  My arm was very hot and the temptation to take of the wraps was intense.  But I did not give in and endured a miserable, restless night.

June 23, 2005
I am grateful for my family of a husband, daughters, son-in-laws, grandchildren and events like lunches, outings, baby showers and anything in general that pushes me to continue to move on.  Otherwise, I might crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head to escape the things I do not like right now.  Tonight was my daughter’s baby shower so with a bit of extra effort, I got myself together to attend it.  It was an evening free of burden and all of joy.

June 24, 2005
I ended my second week of therapy in a more positive frame of mind and soul.  I am more confident about doing the daily exercises and have learned a couple of the massage techniques.  I am enduring the constant wraps on my arm.  My upper arm has improved significantly but my inside fore arm is holding edema.  I am trying to drink more water to help flush the protein out.  My therapist is hoping to be able to measure me for a compression sleeve next week.  I never thought I would look forward to wearing a compression sleeve but after wearing my arm constantly wrapped for the last two weeks, I am much more receptive to a compression sleeve.  My therapist said it is has more pressure than the wraps because of the thinness of the material, but because of that thinness I will have more mobility.  I have heard that the garment is rather hot to wear in the summer.  But so are these wrappings. 

Next Wednesday morning I will have my Port-A-Cath removed.  I will be sedated to the point of the twilight zone while the surgeon removes it.  One less cancer reminder.

June 26, 2005
Homecoming this weekend brought hugs from church friends past and present.  Sometimes it was familiar faces but forgotten names or almost familiar faces with well-remembered names. But always the bond of the past as our common denominator. 

I shared heartfelt hugs with our former pastor and his wife.  I expressed to him my deep gratitude for his spiritual role in my life.  Although I grew up in a Christian home, I did not get serious about my spiritual walk until I was married with children.  This pastor’s ministry taught us practical methods in how to daily walk the Christian walk, how to have a Christian marriage and how to raise our family.  We grew our family up under his ministry.  At my request, he signed the Bible I received as a high school graduation gift from my parents.  I used that Bible throughout my college days and most of his ministry at our church.  I have the signatures of many ministers I have heard and respected over the years.  I neglected to have the foresight to have him sign it before he retired.  Today a very special signature was added, that of a spiritual father in the prime of my youth.   I will always love him. 

An old hymn we sang this morning was a balm to my soul.  “Great is Thy faithfulness! Great is Thy faithfulness! Morning by morning new mercies I see; All I have needed Thy hand hath provided- Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!”  

One phrase in particular impacted me, “All I have needed Thy hand hath provided.”  Not all I have wanted but all I have needed.  Throughout this journey, God has provided all that I have needed.  I believe that because I have seen His hand at work over and over, even though sometimes I have been blinded by my own short sightedness or self-centeredness.  Though I would not have chosen this course, I have been entrusted with these struggles because God knows I can choose to handle it.  I believe the ability of choice is the key to the struggles of life.  I can choose to become better or I can choose to become bitter.  I continue to choose to become better from it even though I have my moments of tears and childish whining.
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided- Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!

June 27, 2005
After my morning therapy, I joined up with my oldest daughter and two granddaughters to run a few errands.  We accomplished what we intended to accomplish and had almost thirty minutes left before we needed to pick up my grandson from VBS.  We decided to head for the former Kmart now newly renovated into some type of Sears outlet.  As my daughter pulled her van into the parking lot, suddenly we were both devastatingly aware of a red Dodge Intrepid bearing down on us at a high rate of speed.  My daughter tried an evasive measure but was unable to get us out of harm’s way.  The Intrepid struck her Chrysler Town and Country van on the front passenger side.   The impact directly in front of me caused me to pitch forward even though I was wearing a seat belt and I hit my head on the upper hand hold.  Two vehicles had come to a grinding halt.  Immediately I was aware of unfamiliar engine noises and told my daughter to turn her vehicle off. 

The van was eerily quiet.  Not a sound from the backseat where our two little girls were sitting.  Feeling a little stunned from the blow to my head, I wasn’t maneuvering well yet.  Are the babies okay?  I asked.  My daughter confirmed they seemed all right.  The four-month-old baby was still sleeping in her car seat.  The two and a half year old granddaughter had been watching a DVD with her headphones on.  She was very quiet, like she was trying to assimilate what had happened and what was now going on. 

My daughter called her husband at work and I called 911.  An ambulance was being sent to the scene of the accident.  I called my middle daughter to ask that she contact the church and get a message to a friend to pick up my grandson since we obviously were not going to make it.  An ambulance and a fire department rescue vehicle arrived.  We were all checked out and no one went to the emergency room.  My daughter tried to encourage me to go to get checked out since I had hit my head and she feels I am more vulnerable because of my recent cancer treatments.  I declined.  I knew my head injury wasn’t a concussion because I never lost consciousness, became confused, repeated myself repeatedly.  I have had a concussion before so I knew I was all right other than a bit rattled.  And I wasn’t going to spend all day in the emergency room for them to tell me what I already knew.

Two of my son-in-laws, husband and daddy of our precious cargo and the husband of my middle daughter both arrived on the scene about the same time the police arrived.  The male driver of the Intrepid tried to say his female passenger was driving but we both refuted that.  He was given a citation for driving with a revoked driver’s license and for not having insurance.  No one in his car appeared injured.

My youngest daughter, who works in a children’s resale shop in the adjoining shopping area came and retrieved my oldest granddaughter while we were tied up with police reports and readying the van for towing.  As I focused on retrieving all personal effects from the van, I was aware of my lymphedema swelling significantly in my right arm although it was freshly wrapped from therapy.  It felt like I had a blood pressure cuff on my upper arm.  To be on the safe side, I called my therapist and told him what happened.  Even though I hadn’t hit my arm on anything, the stress of the situation caused excess lymphatic fluids to swell my arm.  He advised me to go for medical help if I felt any pain or numbness in my fingers.  Otherwise, just rest when I got home.

I usually have an inward emotional reaction when I see wrecked vehicles being towed, and even more so when the wrecked vehicle belongs to my loved ones.  Sadly, the front of the beautiful silver van sustained heavy damage.  Thankfully, it was the passenger front that took the impact and not the door next to where my granddaughter sat.  I shudder to think of the ramifications of that scenario.  I gladly take my blackening eyelid in exchange for the safety of my precious little princess.  God is good.   

June 28, 2005
I grunted and groaned with my first steps this morning.  Extra body aches from the accident, I presume.  But the show must go on.  And today is my oldest daughter’s surprise 30th birthday party.  Her husband has planned it all and I am helping.  Little stories (lies) have been told, bases have been covered and it looks like the surprise is in fact, going to be a surprise.

My youngest daughter and I met my son-in-law mid afternoon at the downtown Cooledge Park Pavilion.  I was grateful for the pavilion’s comfortable air conditioning.  My son-in-law toted in all the food, cake, drinks and cooler and scooted back to work as quickly as possible.  My daughter and I decorated serving tables, arranged food onto serving trays, and kept watch over our party set up for a couple of hours before the guests began to arrive.

A crowd began gathering at the designated time.  I received a cell phone call from the birthday daughter informing me they were leaving home because my husband and I were supposedly going to meet up with her family to go to a children’s modeling show benefit for the Alzheimer’s Association.  She didn’t realize she had just given us a ‘warning call.’ 

The park was very crowded so the chances of familiar cars being spotted were minimal.  I kept my eyes peeled in the direction my son-in-law said he would come.  There he was!  Looking ever so nonchalant as he carried our two-year-old granddaughter with our four-year-old grandson walking beside him.  And behind him pushing the baby in the stroller, my unsuspecting daughter.  The closer they got to the pavilion, the more my son-in-law maneuvered to keep her view of the pavilion blocked by his body.  The closer she got to the pavilion, the easier it would be to see there was no children’s fashion show going on. Two video cameras were recording.  The timing was crucial.  Just as her face began to reveal a slight suspicion, the door was flung open and we yelled surprise!  She was shocked!!!  Indeed, it was a successful surprise and a fun filled celebration of her life that is a blessing to all who love her.

June 29, 2005
My port-a-cath was surgically removed today.  I am thankful for its usefulness in my chemotherapy treatments but I am not sorry to have it go.  It is one less detail to cope with.  

Sleeping comfortably is a challenge.  I am not supposed to lie on my right arm anymore (my favorite sleeping position), and I have to avoid lying on the incision on my left side and a sore spot above my right eye from the accident.  I wake up frequently to find a comfortable position. 

June 30. 2005
Tonight was an evening picnic and ball game outing with church friends, my first summer weather outing with my heavily wrapped arm.  A bit uncomfortable because of the heat but bearable because of the enjoyable three hour visit with a good friend that I hadn’t kept up with for a couple of months.  Later I felt sorry for her husband who ended up watching the game without her company.  But it was fun to getting all that girl talk in. 



July 1, 2005
In the last month, several women have surprised me by telling me they receive my journal.  I don’t mind that my journal recipient list has been expanded by those that receive it directly from me. I only hope the recorded struggles and victories of my journey this last year can be used by the Lord for his glory.  Lately I have wondered again when I should cease sharing my ramblings or if I should trim the list.  I trust the Lord will give me wisdom in knowing the right time.  I do not want my journal to become more of a burden then a blessing.

July 3, 2005
It was a full day with a soul stirring patriotic morning service at our daughter’s church, dinner on the grounds, an afternoon rest, and the brave venture of my youngest daughter, two grandkids and myself taken to stake out a spot to watch fireworks at the park.  It was a bit difficult because of the long walk from our parking spot, arm breaking loads of stuff and vigilantly watching over our precious charges as we maneuvered through the crowd. 

Though we encountered muddy grounds as we looked for a spot, we managed to homestead a small piece of less muddy land and threw down our quilts.  Unfortunately the two quilts immediately grew damp from the grounds moisture but at least we had a space that would adequately accommodate the later arrivals of my oldest daughter, her husband and baby, my husband and three friends, my youngest daughter’s husband and my daughters best friend, her three kids and my dear friend, her mom.  The park was packed out but we were findable because of the wonderful technology of cell phones.  The two-hour symphony concert inspired the three girls to flit around in ballet moves.  My grandson, the only boy grew weary of the ballerina’s and tried distracting maneuvers such as tackling them, to the music of course.  Our own personal entertainment performed on our soggy quilts kept us laughing. 

The fireworks were worth the time and effort.   Especially when you have the privilege of looking at the fireworks through the eyes of a grandchild on your lap. 

July 4, 2005
Today it was a picnic and pool day at the home of my daughter’s in laws.   I spent the day underneath the shade of a table umbrella.  These summer outings are tests of my endurance because of the limitations of my heavily wrapped arm.  Sitting outside with the wraps on my arm is comparable to sitting there with an arm wrapped in a thermo blanket.  Who in their right mind would sit outside like that? 

The pool’s water looked so inviting, I felt like abandoning all reason and jumping in, clothes, wraps and all.  I didn’t.  Instead, I focused on watching the grandkids having fun and being sure they were safe.  My oldest daughter thoughtfully brought me a bucket of cool water to submerge my feet in which did help keep me a degree or so cooler. 

I enjoyed myself today in spite of the changes I am gradually learning to adjust to.    I am always thankful for every outing, event, and moments when I am able to be with the special people in my life.  It is what I am able to do that I need to focus on more than what I am not able to do.  I am alive and well, or at least on my way to being well again.  I am going forward, not looking back and wondering what if this or what if that, but looking ahead to what else the Lord has for my life. 
“But one thing I do:  Forgetting what is behind and straining for what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.”

July 5, 2005
I received a thought provoking e-mail from my sister-in-law about friendships.  I have read it several times and decided to include it in my journal so I will always have it.  The gift of friendship should never be taken for granted.  How often the Lord ministers to us through friendships.  Friendship also gives us an opportunity to minister.  Our life is blessed through family friendships and friendships with those that chose to be our friends. 

I am thankful for the friendship of my mom, my sister, my sister-in-laws, my three daughters, my cousins, my aunt and my friends, who though aren’t related to me have chosen to have a relationship with me.  I truly have been blessed abundantly.



TO THE WOMEN IN MY CIRCLE

When I was little I used to believe in the concept of one best friend and then I started to become a woman.  I found out that if you allow your heart to open up, God would show you the best in many friends.  Another friend’s best is needed when you’re going through things with your mom.  One friend’s best is needed when you’re going through things with your children.  Another when you want to shop, share, heal, hurt, joke, or just be.

One friend will say, “let’s pray together”, another “let’s cry together”, another “let’s fight together”, another “let’s walk away together”.  One friend will meet your spiritual needs, another shoe fetish, another love for movies, another will be with you in your season of confusion, another will be your clarifier, another the wind beneath your wings.  But whatever their assignment in your life, on whatever the occasion, on whatever the day, or where ever you need them to meet you with their gym shoes on and hair pulled back or to hold you back from making a complete fool of yourself, those are your friends.

It may all be wrapped up in one woman, but for many it’s wrapped up in several.  One from 7th grade, one from high school, several from college years, a couple from old jobs, several from church, on some days your mother, on others your sisters or your daughters, and on some days it’s the one that you needed just for that day or week that you needed someone with a fresh perspective, or the one who didn’t know all your baggage, or the one who would just listen without judging… those are good girlfriends/best friends.

I thank my girlfriends, those who honor intimacy, and those who hold trust and those who hold me up when life is just too heavy!

The special bond we share is unique.  Thanks for the words we’ve shared, the prayers we’ve prayed, the laughs, the tears, the phone calls, the emails, the shopping, the movies, the lunches, the dinners, the talking, talking and the listening, listening, listening….

So whether you’ve been there for 20 minutes or 40 years… I love you! 
Pass this on to the women that God has placed in your life to make a difference.  I just did.


July 6, 2005
I had an early morning appointment to be measured for a compression sleeve.  I actually saw several sleeves.  The look of the sleeve is similar to a heavy support hose like my grandma used to wear.  So I will be wearing one on my arm.  Thrills.  I think I will do better with the sleeve than the glove.  I don’t like my hand covered.

I was thinking.  Again.  I ponder upon life constantly.  My thoughts formatted into the style of a David Letterman Top Ten list.  I think a person could fill this list out several times in a lifetime. The Top Ten Things I Never Thought I Would Do list could be fun, sad, serious, goal setters, etc.  My list tracks the past year of my cancer journey.

The Top Ten Things I Never Thought I Would Do
10.  I never thought I would ever do chemo. 
  9.  I never thought I wouldn’t need to shave my legs for almost a year.
  8.  I never thought I would be bald.
  7.  I never thought I would go out in public bald.
  6.  I never thought I would have a hairdo as short as it is now.
  5.  I never thought I would see myself without my lifetime bangs.
  4.  I never thought my arm would be in compression for the rest of my life.
  3.  I never thought I would be exhausted by early evening.
  2.  I never thought I would send out my written deep feelings worldwide.
  1.  I never thought there could be so many blessings in this present burden.

July 11, 2005
An elderly lady is often doing therapy the same mornings I am. She encourages me with her spunk and how she tackles her therapy.  We have shared a couple of acquaintance conversations.  I remarked about her butterfly tee shirt today.  She said she has a butterfly collection, which began because she keeps busy and flits around like a butterfly.  Her collection has grown considerably through her family and friends.  I am going to add to her collection and give a silver Monet butterfly pin that I have had for over twenty-five years.  I feel impressed to include a note with the butterfly telling her how she has encouraged me.

July 13, 2005
A reoccurring painful toothache has been giving me trouble off and on but more so lately.  I don’t have a dentist because I gave into my phobia about dentistry and neglected my teeth.  And I do not have dental insurance.  A long time friend of mine came to my rescue and scheduled me an appointment at the dental division of the health department where she has worked for almost thirty years. 

Just sitting in the dentist chair revived my phobic feelings.  Though I jokingly asked if there was an available seatbelt, I really wasn’t kidding. 
The dentist gave me bad news.  My tooth needed to be pulled since it was beyond saving.  It was not worthy of a root canal because it was a non-functioning tooth since there was no tooth beneath it.  A tooth I lost several years ago.  Add to that more bad news.  Two other teeth that broke off during chemotherapy also needed to be pulled.  Three extractions.  I left the clinic with a painful tooth still in my mouth, a list of oral surgeons to call and a higher anxiety level. 

July 14, 2005
I was up most of the night because of level 10 tooth pain.  The pain medication the dentist gave me yesterday did not relieve the pain.  In spite of my phobias, I am ready to get it out and be done with it.  I called the entire list of oral surgeon practices for price comparisons since we do not have dental insurance.  I chose an oral surgeon based on the most reasonable price and the helpful manner of the office personnel that I spoke with.   My appointment is tomorrow.

I decided I should not postpone grocery shopping for another day since I am facing a few days of discomfort from three extractions.  With painful knees, I hobbled throughout the grocery store filling my cart with essentials.  Standing in line at the checkout, I noticed a man with no face at the adjacent checkout.  Careful not to stare, my quick glance noted he only had two openings where his nose was supposed to be, an eye patch and smooth swollen skin on his left side with no facial features.  Once again, I was reminded my trials with lymphedema are mild in comparison to some one like this. 

While I was loading the groceries into my trunk, I noticed a former church member walking to her car.  I called her name and she looked at me without immediate recognition.  Identifying myself to an old friend didn’t build my self-confidence.  Apparently it was my short do that threw her off since the last time she saw me I was wearing my wig.  She thought I had not lost any hair to chemo since my wig looked so natural. 

My heavily wrapped arm became our main topic of conversation.  I explained lymphedema and its permanency in my life.  She was very sympathetic and confessed guilt over whining about things in her own life for the last year, which she felt, was minimal in light of my situation.  I admitted I too have whiny times but my present trial is no worse then any other trial in life, such as a woman whose husband abandoned her five years ago, a wayward child, or financial struggles.  She insisted my trials were more significant.  I countered that all life trials involve a choice, a choice to become bitter or become better because of it.  She maintained her position and compared my suffering to those of Paul, a noble suffering.  I felt quite unworthy of that comparison.  It seemed the more I talked in an effort to show her my every day weaknesses, the more she promoted me to sainthood.  Me, a saint?  A [person of spiritual stature?  On the contrary, only tonight as I miserably tried to settle into a comfortable position to sleep without lying on my mummy wrapped arm, painful jaw line and troubled knees, I crabbily muttered to my husband how I felt jinxed.  How spiritual is that?

July 15, 2005
My day began with conflicting feelings concerning today’s last therapy visit. It is an appreciated personal freedom to not keep a therapy schedule across town anymore but intimidating to now be fully in charge of the care and maintance of my lymphedmic arm.  My therapist fitted me with my compression sleeve and glove. The donning maneuver is seemed tricky and I expect frustration until I get accustomed to putting the sleeve on.  I thought it was comparable to squeezing into a pair of jeans that is several sizes too small.  The extreme tightness of the compression garment going on converts into a comfortable fit and gives me great flexibility of my arm.  The comparison between compression sleeve mobility and the wrappings is unbelievable.  My arm feels almost normal wearing the sleeve.  I am less enthused about the glove but even it was not as bad as I expected.  I kidded my therapist about keeping me heavily wrapped for the last four weeks so I would be thankful to wear a compression sleeve. 

The physical appearance of the compression sleeve is a great improvement over the wrapped arm.  Hopefully my arm will be less noticeable in public and I won’t have to field a bevy of questions from complete strangers too often.  I never mind explaining lymphedema to those in my personal world but I would prefer not being forced to educate the rest of the world about lymphedema every time I go out.  Most people think I broke or burned my arm.  Depending on my momentary inclination, sometimes I chose to I let them think whatever they think, give a pat response that it is a long story or identify it as lymphedema which usually requires more explanation.  It can be wearisome to be so conspicuous but hopefully more times than not, I will chose to allow the Lord to use this obvious infirmity for his glory.

The butterfly lady was finishing therapy when I arrived this morning.  My butterfly pin was pinned to her blouse.  She gave me a hug and thanked me for the butterfly pin and note.  She seems like a person I would like to know. 
I said my goodbyes to the therapy staff and came home to rest a little so that I could better face one of my worst fears this afternoon, the fear of dental work. 

The lifetime neglect of my teeth and the effects of chemotherapy culminated in today’s ordeal at the oral surgeon.  The dentist and his staff were kind and amiable but the sight and smell of the dentist office was as formidable as always.  I filled out five pages of forms front and back, signed numerous consents and finally was ready for the extraction procedures.  I intended to go through it without general anesthesia to cut down on our out of pocket cost.  But the information given to me by the doctor concerning the extractions, particularly my severely affected tooth convinced me that it was not a good idea to do it without general anesthesia.

I was escorted into a frigid white bright operating room equipped with a dentist chair instead of an operating table.  The nurse anesthetist came in to prepare me for the extractions.  During her evaluation, she asked me if I would like the mole underneath my right eye removed since I would already be under anesthesia.  It appeared a couple of years ago and bothers me somewhat cosmetically but more bothersome is my concern it might be skin cancer.  I would not have thought to ask for this procedure but since it was brought up, I thought why not.  I agreed to have it removed and it will be sent for a pathology report. 

The nurse anesthetists began to look for an adequate vein to start an IV.  I warned her I was a hard stick.  My already difficult vein situation is more complicated then ever since my right arm can never have a needle stick because of the lymphedema.    It took an hour before an IV was successfully completed.  What an ordeal!  She apologetically expressed her regrets that she had to stick me seven times.  I think it was more but who could keep count?  I think my hand was stuck four times, my arm four times, the inside of my wrist twice (most painful), and then my left foot once.  I have never been stuck in my foot before.  She said she never had this much difficulty starting an IV before.  I have heard that line one too many times.  I was beginning to wonder if I would be sent home with a painful tooth for the weekend. 

She enlisted the help of the dentist.  He stuck my right foot and the vein held.  He was holding my foot to keep my IV secure as I drifted off to La La land.   I awoke with a mouth full of cotton and relief it was over.   I was glad to exit the building and get into my car with my loving supportive husband who waited patiently for me for four hours. 

I curled up on the den couch wrapped in a quilt for the evening.  After I removed the gauze from both cheeks, I felt better then I expected. Probably the pain I suffered with my wretched tooth will prove to be worse than my recovery from oral surgery.  My oldest daughter came for a short evening visit and brought me a cheery rose, a rose named Emmaline Rose, our youngest granddaughter.  She lights up the room and our hearts with her smiling eyes, broad toothless smile and cooing sounds. 

July 16, 2005
I slept much better last night. The pain medication helped me to be quite comfortable.   I was able to eat yogurt and applesauce last night and this morning.  I don’t like to take medication on an empty stomach.  I am glad from here on out I will continue to improve and I will get this extraction recovery behind me. 

This afternoon I put my compression sleeve on for the first time and surprisedly it was easy.  It only took a minute or two.  It is much easier than arm wrapping. I am wearing the gauntlet instead of the fingertip less glove today.  The gauntlet ends right across the top of my knuckles.  I noticed a vast improvement of flexibility using the computer keyboard.  This is encouraging.

I expect a brighter week ahead.  A joyful occasion to focus on this week is the upcoming imminent birth of our fourth grandchild, Ava Kathryn.  Our middle daughter’s due date is July 24th but we anticipate she will go earlier.  We are excited to meet and hold her.

September 7, 2005
A year ago today I began my chemotherapy.  I remember vividly the fear, dread and anxiety in the days before.  After I began my treatments, I was filled with a peaceful acceptance in this phase of my journey because the Lord was with me, as always.
Recently my niece sang a song written by Ben Glover and performed by Avalon.  The words to the song touched my heart and moved me to tears.  It was an awesome reminder to me personally that throughout my cancer journey, the Lord was there, He was always there.
 I wonder how it must have felt,
When David stood to face Goliath on a hill.
I imagine that he shook with all his might
Until you took his hand and held on tight.


‘Cause You were there, You were there, in the midst of dangers snare. 
You were there, You were there, always. 
You were there when the hardest fight seemed so out of reach. 
Oh, You were there, You were always there.  You were always there. 
So there he stood upon that hill,
Abraham with knife in hand was poised to kill. 
But God in all His sovereignty had bigger plans 
And just in time, You brought a lamb.

‘Cause You were there, You were there, in the midst of the unclear.
You were there, You were there, always.
You were there when obedience, seemed to not make sense.
Oh, You were there.  You were always there. You were always there.

So haven’t I learned that my ways aren't as high as Yours are
and you alone keep the universe from crumbling into dust. 
You are God and though we would not have understood You, there You were.
Hanging blameless on a cross, You would rather die than leave us in the dark. 
Every moment, every planned coincidence, just all makes sense, with Your last breath.

You were there; You were there, during history's darkest hour. 
You were there, You were there, always. 
You were the Victor and the King; You were the power in David's swing. 
You were the calm in Abraham. You are the God who understands.
You are the strength when we have none.  You are the living, Holy one. 
You were, You are and You will always be, the Risen Lamb of God. 
As the words of this song impacted me, I personalized its message to my own life.  It is my journey song I continue to sing to the Lord.
 “You have breast cancer.”  You were there, in the midst of dangers snare.   
“You have cancer in your lymph nodes.”  You were there when the hardest fight seemed so out of reach.  
“You need to have chemotherapy and radiation treatment.”  “You have Stage 2 lymphedema needing lifetime treatment maintenance for your arm.”  You were there, in the midst of the unclear. 
 “I don’t want to lose my hair.”   “I look and feel like one who has survived a long ordeal.”  “I coped with chemo because I knew it would only last seven months.  I coped with radiation because I knew it would only last seven weeks.  Coping with lymphedema seems harder because it is never going away.”  “I despise having my arm bound in compression day and night.”  “I grieve for my good, right arm that I counted on all my life but is now my ‘bad’ arm.”  You are the God who understands.
 “I can’t do this on my own.”  You are the strength when we have none. 
“I am never alone.”   You were there.  You were always there. You were always there.   You were, You are and You will always be, the Risen Lamb of God. 
Like all things in life's journey, this particular journey has been full of highs and lows. Beside the struggles of coping with breast and lymph node cancer, surgeries, countless tests and procedures, chemotherapy, losing my hair, radiation treatment, and lymphedema therapy, there were other life issues.  I also had to adjust to being abruptly taken off hormone treatment, deal with empty nest syndrome, grieve through the loss of two of our close friends to cancer, fight the panic over the inevitable loss of our medical insurance and prescription plan, and trying not to be overwhelmed with anxiety over my husband’s own physical struggle with his high blood pressure and diabetes.

Thankfully, the highs in my life are greater than the lows, especially now. I am glad I am recovering my normal routine more and more.  The doctor visits are less.  Even though I am overtaken with fatigue more often than I like, I am physically improving and gaining strength.  I try to pace myself and I can go a good two hours before my limitations catch up with me.  It is sometimes amusing when I still have episodes of “chemo brain.”  Small things can overwhelm me easier than usual but I do manage to get a grip.  My hair is still growing although slower than I would chose.  General consensus is my hair seems thicker than before.  I am not sure since I have never had my hair this short before.  It does have more gray than before.  A mixed blessing is that I have to shave my legs now.  The daily responsibility of my lymphedema massage, exercise and compression treatment is daunting and particularly tedious at bedtime.  Occasional waves of depression crash over me, even on vacation where I had hoped to be mentally free from cancer for at least a week.  The realization hit me anew that the effects of cancer would always be a part of me as a reoccurring mind and soul battle but one I can win.  Frequently I have to beat down the flames of worry over health insurance changes, possible cancer reoccurrence, and lymphedema challenges before they ignite into a firestorm that will defeat me.

I am enjoying all of my family.  My husband has been an incredible source of comfort, compassion and strength for me through this entire journey.  I am so thankful for him.  Our daughters who have always been an indescribable blessing have touched my life in even a more special way this past year.  I am thankful for the ways the Lord has enriched my life through our girls.  They are the fruits of our labor.  Their loving compassion, thoughtfulness and kindness have made them great encouragers.  Their husbands too have been so kind and loving.  My parents and my sister were exceptional in their loving support to me through prayers, calls, gifts and visits.  Being loved by others is not taken for granted.  I am thankful for all the love of family and many friends who are just like family.

A wedding and the birth of two grandbabies were a joyous highlight in my life these last few months.  It was absolutely uplifting to my heart to be able to focus on planning a wedding with my youngest daughter during my chemotherapy.  It helped me get through it.  And it is a special mother daughter time that is cherished forever.

Our oldest daughter announced her third pregnancy the day after my lymph node cancer diagnosis.  This too, was a blessing to be able to focus on a new life coming into our family.  This little one proved to our tiniest angel due to an emergency delivery seven weeks early.  Thankfully, mother and baby pulled through without long lasting crisis.  The Lord encouraged and strengthened our family during this critical time through his people.  Prayers were answered and little Emmaline Rose ‘Emmy’ is now a chubby, smiling little light in our lives. I adore her. I cherish every smile, hug and cuddle from her and her older brother and sister.  

 A Thanksgiving Day announcement from our middle daughter gave us another blessed grandchild to look forward to.  Their first child arrived July 22, weighing in at eight pounds four ounces in an uncomplicated delivery.    Words hardly seem adequate to express the welled up feelings of instant love, joy and fulfillment in holding another precious newly born grandchild. Praise the Lord for this answered prayer.  It was my privilege to video Ava Kathyrnn within seconds of her birth.  My first impression of her was that she looked like her Daddy.  Ava has captivated my heart with her expressive smiles and big blue eyes. I have totally fallen in love with her.  Yes, even after already having three other grandchildren, having another one is still very much an absolute thrill! 

It keeps me busy trying to spend quality time with each of my daughters in their life and keeping up with all four of my grandchildren.  But make no mistake, it is a challenge I am up to and one that I immensely enjoy!

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow.  Praise Him, all creatures here below.  Praise Him above ye heavenly host, Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.  Amen.

September 2005
Hairspray is back on my shopping list.  A simple statement but it carries great significance.  It means finally after the first few sprigs of hair sprouted last Christmas, nine months later my hair has grown to a length that can be styled.  Once again I have a hairdo.  Amazingly, my hair grew out into a style that looks like it was intentionally with layers.  I testify that God styled my hair for me with its layers and new thickness.  It is wonderful not to feel like a chemo freak anymore and to blend in amongst the norm. 

It is interesting the difference reactions I receive.  Many remark on my hair.  Some people don’t say a word.  Maybe they think it would bother me.  I love talking about having hair again.  I feel like shouting it from the rooftops.  I have hair and I really like it!  It does seem thicker, just like I wanted.  The final word on that was my brother-in-law.  When he said it was thicker, the verdict was in for me.  His comments are significant because he usually is a man of few words.  My natural curl survived and I am styling my hair without curlers.  Nice and easy!

September 26, 2005
I dislike writing in a negative, depressing tone but in an effort to stay true to recording this journey, I must be honest.  Today I had an appointment with my oncologist and I did not expect it to affect me the way it did. 

I am scheduled for an appointment every four months so my blood work can be monitored.  Getting off the elevator on fifth floor, the same old chemical smell in the hallway hit me full force.  I don’t know what it is but it is has bothered me since day one when I had my first appointment with the oncology office.  Once I get inside the office, the smell is not as strong and bearable. 

Sitting inside the office waiting room was depressing.  The room was full of patients with obvious health issues: a bald woman, another woman wearing a wig, a man hooked up to oxygen, a man in an obviously weakened state sitting in a wheelchair and me.  My inner voice is screaming, “I don’t want to be a part of this world anymore.”  

I went to the hospital out patient chemotherapy department to get my blood work done.  My favorite nurse Leslie was there and it was nice to see her again.  But even there my feelings were erratic.  An older lady was receiving her chemo for the first time.  I heard Leslie saying the same things that she said to me.  Seeing the cycle repeated had a negative impact on me.  How many times does this cycle repeat itself? My new phase of fearing reoccurrence smacked me full force when I talked to a patient going through her third round of cancer.  The last two rounds have been breast cancer. I thought she looked like she was losing the battle. 

Leslie suggested I order lunch since I was a registered outpatient for the day.  I hesitated at first, remembering how difficult it became for me to eat during the chemotherapy treatments.  But I was over chemo, so why not?  I ordered safe bland food like grilled cheese sandwich, orange sherbet and chocolate milk.  But I could barely eat.  As soon as I saw the green insulated lid covering the food plate I began to feel nauseated.  My mental disposition caused me to become physically ill.  I felt sick for the rest of the day and my spirit was low.

I realized today that this journey would never be over.  It will always be before me in one way or another.  I can never escape from it.  Cancer will always have its imprint on my life and will threaten my inner peace.  It is a journey that has potential for many bumps and derailments along the way. When the journey becomes tedious, when the road ahead seems impassable, when the route requires a detour, the mountain is too high, or the valley is too low and the journey’s baggage is a heavy load, I must choose to keep my eyes fixed on my heavenly guide, my light that goes before me.

“Behold, I am the Lord.  Is anything too difficult for me?” Jeremiah 32.27

“It is not the size of the mountain but the strength of the mountain mover.”

October 9, 2005
What do you say to loved ones who are hurting but distance hinders you from being able to physically lighten the load?

What do you say to loved ones who need encouragement but words seem so inadequate?

What do you say to loved ones who are bravely trying to keep going in spite of difficult circumstances?

I can only say I will pray. 
Lord, you know their needs.  Please be there for them.


Today I pondered over the bumps in life’s journey, the frustrations in life when physical problems make it a struggle to manage daily routine, times of discouragement, overwhelming despair; all of which heighten our sense of vulnerability and threaten our independence.  I came to the conclusion that there is a fierce inborn desire to maintain our independence.  Our independence is what we count as being normal.  The general concept of a normalcy usually translates into two thoughts.  First, I can take care of myself and those I love.  Secondly, I can do what I need and want to do with no one’s help.  While these are admirable and well practiced concepts, there is a matter of personal pride involved, which can become a hindrance to us.  Often we valiantly hang on to our facades that things are normal and we are doing all right when in fact we are not.  It is excruciatingly difficult to admit when we cannot do things for ourselves and need assistance.  It leaves us feeling weak and frail.  And worst of all, dependant on others.

I have suffered vulnerability in times of trials.  My recent journey through cancer treatment left me feeling vulnerable because of the loss of my hair. It was an outward sign of being treated for a serious illness.  Not having hair robbed me of a feminine feature that was part of my own unique personal identity.  I knew it would be an enormous struggle to overcome but I did not realize the extent of the adjustment I would have to make. 

I made the adjustment in phases.  Before I lost my hair, I unrealistically but seriously considered never letting anyone see me bald.  Not even my husband.  I don’t know how I was going to manage that but it was a brief impractical thought of mine.  I feared his reaction.  My husband’s first comment on seeing my baldhead was that my head was shaped nicely.  That was a great encouragement to me.  So it was all right for him to see my bald head. 

Next I thought at least I would not let my daughters and their husbands see me bald.  I still didn’t want to be seen in this unattractive condition.  One evening my son-in-law asked to see my bald head. Rather reluctantly, I submitted to this request, took off my wig and found relief in being accepted in my new unattractive appearance.  Though one of my daughters admitted it would take her some time to get used to me being bald, in no time at all I was accepted as myself, bald and all.  In fact the family soon didn’t think much about it at all, just accepting me as mom, with or without the wig. 

Now my phase was it was all right to be accepted by my family and be comfortable in my baldness around my family.  But I was never going to be seen that way in public and singled out as a chemo patient.  After several months of wearing a wig that felt like a hat or wearing my chenille hats that functioned more comfortably than the wig, I grew weary of expending my energy in keeping up my self imposed acceptable appearance. 

I began my new phase of shedding my wig in various situations.  I remember the first time I drove my car without my wig.  I felt naked and exposed even inside the privacy of my car. I soon realized that it didn’t really matter to anyone but me.  The first time I walked into a restaurant without my wig with only a wispy thin covering of baby fine hair, I felt very conspicuous.  Gradually, each time became easier as I built confidence upon each experience that what really mattered was what I thought about myself.  What was working well for me was that I felt more comfortable without the encumbrance of the wig.  I was tired from treatments. I had no extra energy to spend on dealing with it anymore. 

What I learned from the immense life change of losing my hair was that I was much better off letting others see me as I was.  Yes, vulnerable most of the time and but contrarily alternating with almost brazenness at other times.   Through it all I was still essentially the same me. Others saw that. Because I allowed them to see me where I was, they knew when to reach out to me, when to listen, when to encourage me, when to let me be.  I learned that we should not hide our vulnerabilities from each other.  This is the time when we need each other the most.  Do not let pride keep us a prisoner in our own pain.  This is the time when others can come in and lighten the burden for us.  Shed the coverings, like I symbolically would flip my wig off. Allow others to see you where you are.  Trust.  You will find encouragement. Allow others to step in and go forward with you.

November 10, 2005
I was reading an e-mail from a young missionary mother who suffered a violent attack one evening in her home on the field.  She is enduring the slow process of getting well and the pain of recovery is intense.  While the physical trial is excruciating, it is encouraging to see that she is winning the spiritual battle.

 “As Keli thought about the assault, it bothered her that she couldn’t bring any scripture to mind while it was happening.  She had worked with her girls to memorize passages for moments such as these, but just when she needed strength and comfort most, nothing seemed to be there.  All she could cling to in her heart and say over and over was, “I trust you, God.”

But a friend told her while she may not have been quoting verses, she was living them.  “You will keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You.”  Keli stayed her mind on the Lord and found peace.  “There were moments of intense fear,” she wrote, “But I felt the struggle within me and chose peace.”

And all the work of memorizing the scripture was not in vain.  In the next room, her daughters were crying out to God for her protection and loudly quoting the very verses she couldn’t say herself.  That gave her all the strength and hope she needed.  “I determined that if I had anything to do with it, they wouldn’t come out of that room and find me dead.”  Keli wrote.  And they didn’t.  The found instead a faithful God who answers prayer. 

I could relate to this particular excerpt of her testimony.  I reminded me of when I was consumed with fear after my cancer diagnosis.  Of the times as I struggled through months of treatment and sometimes all I could spiritually utter was a single word.  Trust.  How thankful I was that other people were praying for me because at many phases I was unable to pray for myself.  “The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much.” James 5:16

Through my state of physical hardship, mental fatigue, emotional bankruptcy, and spiritual battle, I continued to choose to be better rather than be bitter.  I continued to choose peace rather than fear.  I was enveloped in such a fog that I didn’t realize at the time that I was living out my favorite life verse, just like Keli did.  “Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee because he trusteth in Thee.”  Isaiah 26:3

Wow.  The Christian walk is amazing.  Sometimes we feel like our diminutive steps forward are inconsequential or we are standing still.  But when we are able to look back and see where we were and where the Lord has brought us, we see the progress of the journey.    Our heart sings, “It will be worth it all, when we see Jesus. Life’s trials will seem so small, when we see Christ.  One glimpse of His dear face, all sorrow will erase.  So bravely run the race, till we see Christ.”